


Look Into My Eyes (And Tell Me What You See)

by IAmAStonyGirl



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Badass!Uhura, Betrayal, Brainwashing, Capture, Dark!Jim, M/M, Multi, Protective!Spock, Psychological Torture, Slavery, Torture, dark themes, whump!Bones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:03:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8865031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmAStonyGirl/pseuds/IAmAStonyGirl
Summary: There isn't anything James Kirk wouldn't do, no distance he wouldn't travel, or challenge he won't brave, for his family -- let alone for those he loves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arrowinthesky (restfulsky5)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/gifts).



> Hello, everyone.
> 
> I know, I know; my Spones Fic still has yet to be finished. I'm working on it, honest; I just haven't been happy with the endings I've written. I'm sure my fellow writers out there would agree that playing a scenario out in your head is TOTALLY DIFFERENT when you try to put it into words.... But for those of you who have been patiently waiting on the final chapter, don't worry; I will not let it go unfinished. My muse just needs the right kick, is all.
> 
> Secondly, I've been working on this specific plot bunny for several months, now. And as a gift to the lovely arrowinthesky, I finally have constructed a presentable storyline. I hope you like it, my dear.
> 
> Thirdly, I must warn everyone in advance that, even though I have significantly watered down most of the nastier bits, this particular story veers pretty dark -- especially where our favorite triumvirate is concerned. Although I have made this readable for the masses, please be advised that things get a bit uncomfortable throughout. And depending on reader response, warnings may change. I don't want to reveal much more than that for risk of potential spoilers. 
> 
> Lastly, if you don't mind me getting a bit personal, I must put it out there now that my updates may or may not be consistent, at times. Believe me when I say that writing for you lovely people and reading your feedback (criticism or otherwise) is one of my biggest joys. Unfortunately, however, I am currently caring for my terminally ill husband, and that he is my first concern. If there comes a point in time that I do not update regularly -- or I do not respond to reviews right away -- please keep in mind that I will not forget about any of your and I read and treasure everything that is written to me for my work. And I will get back to everyone whenever opportunity allows. I hope you all can be patient with me.
> 
> On a lighter note, I hope everyone enjoys this piece of work. I'd love to know your thoughts, positive or negative. I appreciate input, criticism, and especially encouragement. I understand that this type of story is not for everyone. Please enjoy!
> 
> (Also, I not that I have anything against Ben Sulu or anything, but I was shipping Chulu when I started writing this...)

_Prologue_

There were probably many variations of descriptions in countless languages that could have accurately described the situation at hand. Unfortunately for James Kirk, the prestigious captain could come up with none of them.

As he scanned the surrounding area -- filled with rubble, ash, and corpses in all directions -- a whirlwind of tumultuous thoughts raced through his mind. The one that stood out the most was, ' _This is my fault_.' And how could it not be? _He_ was the one who answered the distress call. _He_ was the one who assigned the team. More than anything, _he_ was the one who sent them down here. Him -- their great and fearless leader: the one who may have sent them to their deaths.

"Spread out. Leave nothing unchecked," he ordered curtly over his shoulder, to his small team of medical and security personnel flanking him from all sides. Like a switch being flipped, they all leaped into action, broken from their stunned reverie of the devastation surrounding them.

This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a simple rescue mission: send down a response team via shuttle craft, give aid to the settlers, evacuate any survivors, return to the ship, and file a report on the incident. Who would have guessed that it had simply been a ploy to ambush unsuspecting Federation officers? And for what, exactly? Jim wished he knew. And now, over a dozen of his crew -- including his First Officer and Chief Medical Officer -- were missing in action. Possibly dead.

Jim instantly shook that thought from his mind; he would not allow himself to think that way -- at least not until he looked upon their lifeless bodies with his own eyes. Hell, even then, he still might not accept it. He couldn't. With a sigh, he shut his eyes and tilted his head back, forcing down any subsequent emotions. Now was not the time to let his fear and worry get the better of him. He was the _captain_ , damn it. Of all people, he could not afford to lose his head -- especially when there were lives on the line.

Jim fanned out with his crew, taking care to step mindfully, yet lightly. Dead bodies littered the expanse of the area. Some were charred to the point far passed recognition. When he knelt beside a figure wearing what was presumably a blue tunic, his heart lobbed itself in his throat as he carefully turned the prone figure over. He had to clamp down on the urge to vomit at the sight of the disfigured face. Of course, later on he would ponder over what it said about him when he had been immensely relieved that it hadn't been his husband. Regardless, a surge of grief overcame the captain over the loss of another crew member; it still got to him every time. No matter how many times it happened, no matter how many years seasoned him, Jim would forever feel the loss -- and would always take it personally.

With a thought to return and pay due respects once the search was concluded, Jim regained his feet. The more he and the landing party surveyed the area, the more he began to lose hope that anyone was left alive. Whoever was responsible for this obviously didn't want to leave any witnesses. Jim had to swallow his impending panic.

"Captain! Over here! Somebody help me!"

A cry from several yards away caused Jim to snap his gaze to the left so fast that his neck ached from the motion. Without hesitation, he sprinted in the direction of the familiar voice belonging to Doctor Geoffrey M'Benga, Bones's second-in-command. Several other crew members joined him to where M'Benga was straining to lift what looked like a large chunk of a roof. The captain moved to assist, the others following suit. Jim could make out a single arm, donned in a golden ensign's tunic, just barely peeking out from under the structure. It almost wasn't until he heard Lieutenant Sulu's distraught exclamation that he deduced who it was.

"Pavel!"

The roof suddenly became quite a bit heavier as the helmsman dropped to the ground, pulling the limp figure into his arms and away from the rubble. Jim strained with all the others, his voice tight as he ordered two others to help Sulu pull Chekov out of harm's way. The roof was dropped as soon as everybody was clear.

"Pavel!" Sulu cried near hysterically, trying everything to garner any kind of response. "Pasha! Damn it, answer me! Open your eyes, Pasha!" All things considered, it was conduct very unbecoming of a Starfleet officer. However, Captain Kirk simply could not fault his helmsman; Jim himself wasn't so sure he wouldn't react much the same way if -- _when_ he found his husband.

Chekov emitted low, almost inaudible whimpers of pain with Sulu's attempts to rouse him, but nothing more. His head lolled against his shoulder, allowing substantial damage to make itself known: where his face was not burned, it was covered in bloody lesions. The curls on his left temple were completely singed off. There was a gaping, yet cauterized, wound in his side.

"Lieutenant, if you'd please," M'Benga interjected firmly, yet not unsympathetically. "I need to examine him."

With a watery nod, Sulu carefully set the ensign down onto the ground and moved just far enough away to allow M'Benga to look him over. Jim knelt beside his helmsman, concern and relief warring for dominance in his consciousness. After a brief moment, M'Benga shook his head ruefully.

"I need to get him back to the ship immediately," the Acting CMO announced. "He's in critical condition, Captain."

Jim only allowed the words a split second to register before he was reaching for his comm. "Scotty, I need a beam-out directly to Medbay. And send an extra team down to --"

"Kep...tin..."

The weak, yet discernible voice startled the captain and halted his orders mid-word. With wide eyes, Jim glanced down at Chekov, who struggled to peer up at him through his own bleary ones. Beside him, he could hear the choked sob of relief from Sulu, "I'm here, ensign," Jim assured in his steadiest, yet gentlest Captain's voice. "You're gonna be alright."

Clumsily, Chekov raised a bloodied hand to grasp at Jim's tunic, "Keptin...they..."

"What happened down here?"

Chekov appeared not to hear him, but was obviously determined to get whatever he had to say out, "...took...them..."

Jim's heart hammered in his chest, " _Who_ , Pavel? Who did this?"

"Trap...all of..." With an exhale, Chekov's hand went limp and the ensign succumbed to unconsciousness once more. Sulu's cries fell on deaf ears while Jim tried to process the fragments of information.

"Captain," M'Benga urgently insisted. "I have to get him out of here -- now."

With a nod, Jim spoke into his comm again, "Scotty."

"Sir?" The Scot's voice replied immediately.

"Lock onto our coordinates and beam Dr. M'Benga and Mr. Chekov directly to Medbay."

"Aye, sir. An' I have that search team ready for you."

"Copy that."

"Captain," Sulu cut in before the connection was cut. His voice was steady once more, but his eyes remained haunted. It was clear what he asking without the use of words. Jim shook his head.

"You'll only be a hinderance and Dr. M'Benga can't afford any distractions. Besides, I need you here to help me find out what the hell went on down here." He stood as the aforementioned doctor and patient were whisked away in a whirl of light. He turned to the surrounding members of his crew. "Broaden your range and continue the search. Everyone in pairs. There might be more survivors, but there also might be danger. Use caution. Report back here in an hour." Once everyone sans Sulu was out of earshot, he muttered lowly, "Let's hope our luck hasn't run out yet."

\----------

Leonard McCoy had experienced his fair share of murderous hangovers in his lifetime. There was even a time wherein he'd sworn that the Rigilean Flu was preferable to some of the doozies he's suffered. This time, however, it was his professional opinion that nothing short of amputating his head would relieve THIS kind of pain.

A long, low groan rattled passed his throat. What the hell did he have to drink last night? And how much? Come to think of it, he couldn't remember _anything_ from last night -- much less falling asleep. That thought quickly set alarm bells off in his head when he tried to roll over, only to hit his head against something solid -- which did _not_ help his migraine, thanks very much. It was then that he realized that he wasn't lying down at all, but rather sitting upright against a cold wall of some sort.

Oh, hell. That can't mean anything good.

Daring to crack his eyes open, Leonard was momentarily shocked to find himself in pitch blackness. Well, small mercies _do_ exist, after all.

"Doctor. It is reassuring to find that you are alive and well."

Okay. It looked like that something solid was another body. The familiar voice amidst the surrounding darkness would have made him laugh in relief if he thought it wouldn't hurt so badly, "Alive, yes. _Well_? The jury's still out on that one."

"Are you injured?"

"Aside from the tiny gnomes playing ' _A Warrior's Call_ ' with my skull, no. But I won't be sure until -- what the hell...? Spock, I can't move!" A sudden claustrophobic panic began festering in the doctor's gut as he tried once again to move his arms, his legs, even his head away from the wall.

"Doctor, you must calm yourself; struggle is futile. I have already attempted all possible avenues of escape to no avail."

"Oh, and you really think that's gonna calm me down?" Leonard demanded frantically. Now that he had enough adrenaline pumping through his veins to allow a semblance of coherent thought, Leonard could, indeed, detect many elements hampering much of his movements: there was a heavy weight settled on his throat, indicating a collar of some sort. Although he could not hear the clink of a chain, he could only shift a few scant inches from the wall. In addition, his arms were secured tightly behind him, his wrists apparently fastened to his waist. Similar bindings held his knees and ankles together. "It's only gonna make me wanna break free even more!"

"You will only succeed in injuring yourself," Spock insisted calmly. "I deem it best to conserve our energies until more information about our current situation is available to us."

"Oh, that's just great!" Leonard huffed with enough ire in his voice to disguise the absolute terror thrumming through him. "Just sit here like a couple of blind, crippled ducks just waiting to be feathered and stuffed!"

There was a pause before the Vulcan spoke, confusion evident in his tone, "For what reason would one give feathers to an animal which already bears its own --?"

"Oh, for the love of --! It's an _expression_ , you green-blooded..." He quickly scrambled for a suitable dub, coming up blank in his hysteria. "...Vulcan! Besides, I hardly think that should be the topic of discussion, here!"

Before Spock could utter any sort of irritatingly logical retort, another, softer voice called out from Leonard's other side, although a bit further away than Spock, "C-Commander? Doctor McCoy?"

Leonard nearly leapt out of his skin, "Kaavi!" He exclaimed in surprise once he recognized the voice of one of his nurses. "Thank God. I thought I was gonna be stuck here alone in the dark with Mister Roboto."

Kana Kaavi was a recent transfer to the _Enterprise_. Studying under Nurse Chapel, she had just graduated from Starfleet Academy, alongside her engineer twin brother, merely six months prior. She was of an interesting species: humanoid, yet catlike in appearance and agility -- complete with a long, spindly tail that operated like a fifth appendage.

Kaavi wisely chose to ignore Dr. McCoy's tendency to harp on the Vulcan science officer whenever the occasion cropped up. This situation was no different, "Sirs, what happened? Where are we?"

Leonard scoffed sympathetically, "Wish I knew. Can't remember much of anythin'."

"Obviously, we have become hostages," Spock supplied. "It is unlikely that whomever we are dealing with are friendly forces."

"Spock, seriously, isn't there any _useful_ information you could give us?" Leonard snapped. His accent continued to thicken with his increasing trepidation. "Like, I dunno, something we _don't_ know?"

"Now is the least ideal time for your emotional outbursts, Doctor."

" _Emotional_? You ain't seen emotional from me yet, buster!"

"We must maintain a logical mindset if we are to have any hope of --"

"I swear, if you say 'logical' one more damn time, I will _not_ be held accountable for my actions!"

"Sirs!" Kaavi cut in. Both men fell silent at the urgency in her voice. "Do you hear that?"

A second or two passed as everyone strained their ears. Multiple pairs of footsteps were growing louder. An irritated voice accompanied them, "This operation was supposed to remain inconspicuous -- commuter ships and civilian visitors!"

"Someone's coming," Leonard stated. He instinctively tensed, shutting his eyes at the sound of a door hissing open. There was no change in color behind his eyelids, however. He opened his eyes again to still be met with the surrounding blackness. Okay, they all must have been blindfolded.

"I warned you boys about getting this sloppy," the ranting voice lilted as it drew closer to the trio. It had the undertones of a trilling vibrato that was thicker than any Terran could pull off. Okay. Alien of some sort. "And now, you've gone and attracted the attention of Starfleet officers right in the middle of it. You should have killed them all."

"We surmised they would have some value to them, sir," a different variation of an alien voice answered. Leonard was sure it was a species none of them were familiar with, judging by the hissing undertone he'd never heard before. "After all, it's not everyday we capture members of the Federation's best."

"And you didn't think it would draw some attention? Don't you imbeciles think with anything other than your wallets?"

"My men decimated the entire base, Commodore. There was no trace left behind."

"You underestimate the vigilance of the Federation. Your little excursion will be a lot more difficult to erase, this time." The heavier set of footsteps drew closer. Leonard felt them stop just to his right. The voice turned thoughtful. "Still, you may have, indeed, stumbled upon quite a prize. Commander Spock, isn't it? I must admit you're the last person I would have expected to find entangled in all of this. I suppose I will have to start giving these boys some more credit."

"If you are aware of my identity, then you must also know that your suspicion regarding reaction to our disappearance is accurate. As crew members of the Federation flagship, our disappearance will not go unheeded. Our captain will not be easily deterred from finding us."

"Oh, I know of your unflappable Captain Kirk all too well, Commander. Which is the only reason why I haven't exterminated you all this very instant."

"If you know him half as well as you believe you do," Spock replied evenly. "Then you would be aware that he's forbidden to negotiate ransom."

A curt laugh erupted over their heads. It sent a chill down Leonard's spine, "You insult me, Mr. Spock, to assume that I would be so superficial." The alien began moving again. Leonard tensed once more when he realized it was in his direction. The doctor had to bite down on a groan when a six-fingered hand gripped a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back further than was comfortable. "Ah, another gem. I'm surprised Kirk let you out of the safety of your nest, Doctor. One senior officer, I'd consider a coincidence. But two? I'm beginning to doubt the tenacity with which the academy trains its officers."

"How the _hell_ do you know who we are?" Leonard retorted through gritted teeth. His penance was an ever deeper jerk of his head.

"I know more than you can imagine, Doctor McCoy. I also know what an annoyance your merry band of righteous _explorers_ tend to be." The emphasis the alien put on the word 'explorers' hinted that it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"If you don't plan on killing us..." Kaavi's voice cut in. "And you don't want to hold us for ransom, then what else could you possibly want with us?"

The grip on Leonard's hair loosened and he nearly fell over from the release of tension. As he leaned forward in attempt to ease the pain in his back from the odd position, he felt the alien shift to his left, where the cat-like nurse sat. The sound of a boot striking a body -- and without any reaction to the blow -- indicated that there might be more than just the three of them in this predicament, conscious or no.

"A fresh face, I see," the alien mused aloud, ignoring the inquiry. "One I do not recognize. Although, I wouldn't complain of it; you are quite the pretty thing to behold." A low, fierce growl rumbled from Kaavi's direction. Leonard cocked an eyebrow, impressed. He always knew Kaavi had a hearty backbone. The alien seemed to agree. "With some bite, I see. Well, fortunately for you, there's a market for all sorts."

Not liking the churn in his gut that those words spawned, Leonard interjected once again --anything to bring the attention away from his nurse, "And what, pray tell, markets are those?"

His tactic seemed to work, for the alien could be sensed moving back in his and Spock's direction, "As I mentioned, Doctor, your 'peace-keeping' Federation can become quite annoying at times; it has made it difficult for men like myself to stay in business. However, with the recent turn of events, I may just manage to use this situation to my advantage."

"If you are suggesting blackmail," Spock cut in before Leonard could conjure up a smart-ass remark. "Then I can assure you that no leverage you hope to obtain will hold weight against our captain nor the Federation."

The alien seemed nonplussed. Instead, he simply tsked thoughtfully, as if disappointed, "Such a great Vulcan mind, and yet still thinking so small. Well, no matter, Commander. Soon enough, you will need no explanation. In fact," he gave a vibrating chuckle as he ran his fingers through Leonard's already-mussed hair -- which the doctor viciously shook away from. "Before long, you will not even desire one."

Leonard released a bitter laugh, "Heh, you don't know us that well, do ya?" The fingers in his hair tightened again, but Leonard refused to emit a single sound.

"The bravado of Terrans have always fascinated me," the alien hissed. There was definitely an edge to his voice this time. "But even more so when it finally dies and withers away. I do look forward to seeing the spark leave your eyes, Doctor."

"And I can't wait to see the light leave yours when our captain gets his hands on you."

"Doctor..." Spock's voice warned lowly.

"Don't you know?" Leonard continued, louder this time. If he could just rile the guy up, maybe they could figure out some kind of weakness. "He's pretty protective of his crew. _And_ he's got a hot temper."

"Doctor McCoy," Spock tried again.

"Did I mention he survived one of the worst genocides in Federation history? Or that he damn near took on the Klingons single-handedly after his mentor was murdered?" Okay, so he was stretching the truth a little on that one -- and he was most likely on the edge of revealing too much -- but if anything he said got under this bastard's skin, then it was a gambit worth making. "Do you really think any of your fancy conniving is even gonna faze him? Hell, you're probably a proverbial _cakewalk_ to him! You seriously have no idea the shitstorm you just brought down on yourself."

"Doctor, I advise that now is the time to remain silent," Spock insisted firmly.

Another hiss escaped the alien. This time it sounded -- and felt -- much closer. Leonard could feel the heat of his breath on his cheek, "I suggest you heed your commander and hold your tongue, Doctor. It could get you into trouble one of these days."

Leonard could feel his face pinch at the rancid smell of the alien's breath, "Well, I guess I ain't a very quick learner."

Leonard could practically hear the bastard grin, "Not yet, Doctor. But you will be, soon enough. You all will be."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit obscure, here, and not the longest, but I hope this chapter plants some seeds in everyone's imaginations, here. Enjoy, everyone! And thank you to those who have commented, bookmarked, and commented. I'm glad to know my work is enjoyed.

Chapter One

_First Officer's log, star date: 2264.274_

_It's been eight months, three weeks, and six days since the mission on Makis IV went awry. Still no trace of the MIA crew members. The fact that the number of officers unaccounted for dwarf the number of those found dead leads us to believe that extermination was most likely not on the agenda. Captain Kirk believes that they are still alive -- somewhere. As for those who sent the distress signal from the planet, they too have yet to be found._

_Meanwhile, Ensign Pavel Chekov's recovery remains gradual, yet Doctor M'Benga has assured us that he is stable. He's the only surviving member of the away team who we successfully recovered. So far, he is the only link to finding the remainder of the crew. Unfortunately, the physical and psychological trauma may continue to hinder his ability to communicate. Hopefully, for not much longer._

_Doctor M'Benga has reported that the duration -- and the extent -- is still indeterminable at this time._

_Until then, the blind search continues on. Our only clue so far has been the obscure markings discovered on the blade fragments found embedded in Ensign Chekov's abdomen upon rescue. The language was difficult to decipher despite the skill of even our own Lieutenant Uhura. Difficult, but not impossible, thankfully. So far, they've led us to a black market trading post on the edge of the Delta Quadrant. We're en route to it now. Supposedly, it's located on the dark side of a small moon at the edge of the system. I'm not sure what the Captain expects to find there, but well, you never know, I guess. Maybe some kind of miracle chain reaction will finally point us in the right direction._

_First Officer's Personal log, Stardate: 2264.274_

_And that's another thing: the Captain. Maybe it's too bold of me to say it, but...well, I'm worried about him. Hell, I think the whole ship is. Ever since that day, he's been...well, 'different' would be an understatement. It's like he never leaves that chair anymore. His yeoman has to practically spoon-feed him to get him to eat. And he's always going over...something on his PADD. Or in deep conversation with Lieutenant Uhura. And I swear he checks in with Dr. M'Benga every hour about Pash -- about Ensign Chekov. And he always has this...blank...look in his eye. It's almost as if a part of him died._

_Not that I'm surprised; if I lost my crew -- not to mention my own_ husband _\-- I guess I'd be a little off, myself. Still, sometimes I can't help but wonder if the Captain is going to crack. Or if he's finally going to be pushed too far. I'd hate to witness that, if I'm perfectly honest._

_It's times like these that I miss Commander Spock the most; he always seems to know how to temper the Captain just enough to keep things from getting out of control. And if that doesn't do it, a good old fashioned slap upside the head from Dr. McCoy always seems to do the trick._

_Of course, neither one of them are available to do either, so..._

_It's not that I don't trust Captain Kirk to keep the rest of us safe; he's more than proved that more times than any of us want to admit to. I just worry that his regard for himself is taking a back seat in light of all of this._

\----------

_'S'chn T'gai Spock... My name is S'chn T'gai Spock... I am of Vulcan... I am in control of my emotions... S'chn T'gai Spock...'_

The mantra was a never-ending loop, always at the base of his consciousness. It had to be. At times, it was his only anchor -- his only grip on his sanity. Every spare moment was dedicated to it. It gave him strength, in a way, knowing that at least with this, he had control over something.

Timekeeping was usually a precise and effortless practice of the Vulcan people. Of course, those times were under normal circumstances, where frequent and unpredictable bouts of unconsciousness wasn't an issue. He'd long ago lost track of how long it had been. One thing he was certain of, however, was that too much time had passed to cling to any sort of hope.

He hadn't doubted his captain's capabilities for quite some time. Years, in fact. And he was certain that, if allowed, Jim Kirk would still be searching. Nonetheless, space was a vast, endless void --and with no sense of direction. He could be in the adjacent system and would not know it. There was little to no hope.

Not that Spock could say such aloud -- especially to Leonard. Yet again, in his current state, the doctor would not understand the notion, anyways. It was a heavy burden to bear alone: wishing for rescue and yet knowing that no one was coming.

Of course, the burden Leonard had to bear was much more taxing.

If Vulcans believed in such things, Spock would say that it was nothing short of a miracle that he and the doctor managed to stay together for so long. All the other crew had been split off and sold long ago. Sure, Spock had managed to ensure a bit of leverage to avoid getting separated from Leonard, but even then it was risky business. It was mere fortune that the Shi'ar tended to be greedy.

It would be dawn soon. Spock could feel the minute shifts in temperature already. The Pen was not the most comfortable of accommodations. It was floor-less, damp, and with only a single, brick-sized hole in the wall for a window -- too small to fit through and too high to reach. The walls were comprised of some unknown metal that was similar to steel, sturdy and indestructible. The Vulcan would know.

His fists clenched in his lap instinctively for a moment went he sensed one of his 'roommates' shift in their sleep. Although many of them had learned early on that he was no easy target, Spock had long grown accustomed to never letting his guard down. The Shi'ar's battlers were grossly undernourished, prompting them to constantly squabble over rations -- sometimes resorting to killing each other (and, on top of that, cannibalism) in order to get a few extra scraps of meat. The Shi'ar believed it to be a reasonable method of keeping his pets' skills sharp for when they are thrown into the Pit. Being vegetarian, Spock was hard-pressed to resort to such methods. Hence, he guarded his own few scraps with his life -- literally.

Spock was among the best of the battlers. He had to be, quite honestly. Otherwise, he may not have survived half as long. The Shi'ar loved sport -- and he loved waging on matches. He loved the bloodshed, the brutality, and the subsequent winnings he was so often granted. His battlers were seldom beaten, something he took enormous pride in. Spock was definitely a favorite.

Of course, he gave the Vulcan plenty of incentive to strive to win every time.

It was unfavorable, being made to resort to primitive ways in order to simply survive -- and to ensure the survival of Doctor McCoy, as well. Spock did all that he could, when he could, to ease Leonard's plight. As tough as Spock had it, there was almost no respite for Leonard. While Spock managed to find moments of solace late in the night among the snores of his fellow battlers, Leonard was right there, always within the Shi'ar's proximity. In many ways, his pain often dwarfed the combat scars that Spock earned on a nearly daily basis. There was only so much the Vulcan could do to alleviate it.

The others were beginning to stir. Reluctantly, Spock began to pull himself up from the deep, resonating nothingness that he allowed his mind to nestle into. He was always the first to be alert; couldn't risk otherwise. Fortunately, he didn't require as much sleep as most species.

The Vulcan scanned the room as his cell mates came to, one by one. A beefy, bald Orion male bared his teeth at him. Spock met the gesture with a steely, unblinking stare of his own. The Orion glared back, but did not approach. He'd learned his lesson the first day they'd ever crossed paths.

The air was tense today. Many of the battlers were restless. Some were already picking fights. They were all itching to brawl, to shed blood. It'd been quite some time since the last round of matches. Perhaps this day would finally yield an opportunity to release some pressure.

If he was honest with himself, Spock would admit that he, too, was itching for a fight


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, my friends.
> 
> Well, this is the last update of the year. I certainly hope 2017 brings better fortune for everyone all around. I want to thank everyone who left kudos, bookmarked, and left me lovely comments. They are the light in my life during this very dark time. 
> 
> This chapter gets a bit more in-depth about what exactly has been happening, but it's still a little vague -- and that's intentional. I wrote it with a specific tone and I'd love to hear your thoughts on it; how clear, understandable, enlightening, mysterious, etc that it might be. Or if it isn't any of those, I'd love to know as well. After one more chapter, things really start to kick off. I hope everyone enjoys.

Chapter Two

Xyphl III was not your run-of-the-mill marketplace. It was the kind that was set to pack up in a hurry and leave no trace behind, if ever need be. The merchants were shady and their products shadier. There was no telling where half of this stuff came from. The other half, one probably wouldn't want to know.

Such could be assumed about many of the traders. For many of them, they scavenged what they could find, kept their heads down, and conducted business where business was found. A few ventured out of their comfort zones once in a while, occasionally coming across that rare or priceless item. And then there were those who didn't know where their limits should be set.

The first eight merchants didn't recognize the inscriptions on the strange blade fragments, much less the metal of which they were forged. A couple may have seen them before, but couldn't place where or when. It seemed as if luck had just about dried up when a portly, slug of a woman(?) pointed them in the direction of a come-and-go salesman at the end of the aisle.

The man and woman, dressed obscurely enough to blend in without drawing attention, and yet uniquely enough to not prompt a guess as to their origins, stalked evenly towards the aforementioned stand. Their hoods were pulled low over their faces -- not unusual in a place like this -- but not so much that they could not be aware of their surroundings at all angles. They approached the small crowd forming at their destination, unnoticed by the onlookers. The masculine member of the duo cocked his head only slightly as the merchant's voice came into earshot.

"This is quite valuable indeed, my friends! Any ailment, any pain, even age is at the mercy of my home brewed elixir! Just a drop, and years will shave from your body! You'll feel that youthful vibrancy again! All chronic pains will cease! And let's not forget that magical bedroom spark! You can have it all, at only three hundred credits a bottle. A life-time supply, all in this tiny little vial!"

The salesman continued to prattle on as mixed responses emerged from the small gathering. Many fished out their wallets, while some attempted to haggle. A few appeared skeptical and began to shift away, allowing the man and woman to sidle their way to the front of the stand. Many trinkets and knick-knacks of all sorts littered the table, a wide variety therein. Some were interesting, to say the least. Others were so unusual it was tough to decipher just what it was they were. The calloused fingers of the hooded man found themselves to a small bowl of what looked like tiny blue crystals. They were smooth to the touch, and delicate-looking. He could probably break one if he squeezed hard enough.

"Careful with those, my good sir!" The boisterous voice of the merchant boomed to him. "Those are my famous Love Crystals! You break them open, and the first person you touch falls madly in love with you! I'll have to ask you to pay for them if any are damaged!"

The hooded man offered no reply, but he stared at the salesman for so long that the overgrown mustache twitched in discomfort before diverting his attention to his customers again. The hooded man returned to examining the contents of the booth once more. His woman companion stepped up to the merchant at first chance, pulling out the strange shrapnel to inquire about the markings. That was precisely when a particular glint caught his eye.

Without hesitation, the hooded man dove towards the object of his attention. He snatched it up quickly from a surrounding mass of nameless artifacts. He only had eyes for the single band of platinum, crowned with tiny garnets. His hands shook slightly as he turned it over and over, examining every micrometer of its detail. His heart rate doubled as he peered at the inside, reading the recognizable scrawl engraved.

**_Let Us Play Among The Stars_ **

It seemed too good to be true. As if needing further convincing, the hooded man slipped the tarnished band onto his right ring finger. It slid on easily, with just the slightest give -- exactly how he remembered it. The voices over his shoulder were nothing more than white noise to his ears. Several reactions warred for dominance as he caressed the worn metal -- tracing the patterns of the small jewels, following the divot and then the protruding curve that, together, formed an "S" shape on one side. His eyes stung as he pressed the beloved and dearly-missed ring to his lips.

The first of his chaotic emotions to register was elation; this was the first sign he'd seen in months. The second was that of disbelief; could it really be what he thought it was? After so long of finding _nothing_? The third was quickly on the heels of the others, and that was rage -- primarily because this simple, yet precious ring had somehow ended up _here_ , in the far reaches of space in some black market outpost. And without its owner, no less.

A black hole then seemed to envelope his gut, his lungs, and his heart. His posture grew very erect and stiff. His expression hardened beneath the low hood when he finally recognized the distinct voice conversing opposite to his companion.

"...Yes, quite valuable indeed, my dear. Worth a hearty bargain, if I do say so myself. Now, let me see... For those lovely, rare pieces there, I'd be willing to trade you...this lovely scarf all the way from the exotic lands of Risa! Now, plain as it may look, let me assure you that these fabrics --"

"Where did you get this?"

The deep, gravelly voice of the hooded man gave the merchant pause for a moment, still holding the drab scarf aloft towards the woman. The long, brown mustache twitched nervously again, "Why, I acquired this lovely thing from a kindly old trader on --"

The hooded man's voice became darker, if possible, but that was the least of the salesman's worries as his collar was swiftly clenched in a very strong, very incensed grip. He was pulled nearly across the table as he was brought nose-to-nose with the hooded man, "This ring," he growled, shoving the band nestled against his knuckle under the sputtering man's nose. "Where -- did -- you -- get it?"

The merchant, sweaty and trembling, fumbled for words. He glanced to the hooded woman for assistance, but was simply met with cold indifference, "Well, I -- I -- you see, I've been to so many places, and all. One can't possibly expect to remember every single --" the mustached man gave a high-pitched yelp when he was suddenly thrust back. He stumbled to regain his footing as his table of goodies was then overturned by his would-be customer, who crowded him up against one of the poles supporting his booth. Before he could process even that much, the man's hood was thrown back, revealing intricate white and red patterns traced all throughout the handsome face -- and two very blue, very angry eyes.

"Why --! I -- I -- Capt --" his mouth was covered with the fierce grip of a strong hand and those stark eyes were so close that he nearly went cross-eyed.

"There's only one thing I want to hear come out of your mouth, Harry," the blue-eyed man said. " _Where did you get this ring_?"

Once he was free to speak, Harry still needed a moment to gather his bearings -- a moment which he doubted this man was inclined to spare. Nonetheless, he tempered his voice in hopes of appeasing him, "I -- I -- I meant no offense, Captain, honest -- whatever it is! Take the ring. It's yours! Have as many as you'd like!"

Those eyes flashed, sharp as ice. The various markings adorning his face accented his every feature, disguising his appearance just enough to fool anyone not well-acquainted with him. Harry Mudd knew this man, however -- a little too well for his liking. In spite of the unusual clothing and the alien designs on his skin, as well as the goatee that made his appearance all the more sinister, this was unmistakably a very pissed-off Jim Kirk, "How would you like for me to rip out that cheesy mustache, one mousy hair at a time?" Harry trembled violently at the thought, knowing this man would certainly follow through with it. To regain his attention, Kirk slammed him up against the pole again, "Don't make me ask again, Harry..."

\----------

He wasn't sure which awoke him first: the heavy blow to his aching ribs or the resulting cry of pain that burst from his throat. Either way, the abrupt pull from blissful unconsciousness was unforgivingly brutal, as always.

He struggled to open his eyes against the blinding agony, knowing the consequences would be harsh if he did not obey quickly enough. His lungs seized with effort and his vision was hazy, at best. However, this was no excuse, as he knew all too well. He had to pull himself together quickly if he hoped to not provoke his master's wrath.

"I said, _'up_!'" The stern, impatient voice barked. Another kick was added for good measure. It took every ounce of willpower to not curl into a tiny ball. "What makes you think you deserve to rest?"

His first reaction was to apologize, to beg forgiveness for disappointing his owner yet again, but the throbbing ache and the dribbles of blood still pouring from his mouth quickly halted the effort. A distressed noise seeped out instead. He made sure to keep his head bowed as he pushed himself up on shaky hands and knees.

What remained of his garments hung from his body in shreds. The open lesions adorning his back and torso stung with each movement. His head felt heavy and warm, and it seemed as if the floor beneath his hands was spinning. His mouth was sticky and his throat burned with thirst. He hoped he wouldn't throw up again; his owner would not take kindly to that.

"Get over here," the master ordered, pointing at his jeweled boots. " _Now_."

With trembling limbs, he obeyed. Every movement made his body scream in protest, but he knew better than to keep the master waiting. It was times like this when he actually yearned for the shiny bands on his arms and legs to move his body for him. It was never that easy, though; nothing ever was.

No sooner did he reach his intended destination did the sharp point at the front base of his collar extend upwards, the pressure forcing his head to tilt back. Settling in his knees, he stared helplessly up into the stone-cold, glowing eyes of the Shi'ar, praying things wouldn't worsen from here. Rough, cold fingers traced the line of his jaw, smearing the blood there. The master scowled disapprovingly.

"Such a mess you have made of yourself," he growled lowly. "And the fault is yours. You are well aware how I abhor messy things." As if the subsequent shame wasn't enough, the Shi'ar's clawed hand drew back before striking his pet fiercely enough to knock him back to the ground again. Neither of them needed to look to see the resulting gashes the blow left behind.

The pet did not push himself up right away, hindered by the sharp throb on his cheek and the pounding in his head. The Shi'ar was a strong being -- much stronger than him. He learned a long time ago how unwise it was to fight back. Sometimes, however, he simply was not that smart.

"Get _up_ ," came the severely annoyed command of his owner. This time, the slave scrambled to obey, as sluggish as his movements were. With the room still spinning, he quickly assumed the proper pose expected of him: head bowed, legs folded beneath him, hands open and turned upwards on his knees to show no threat. He awaited further orders with trepidation. When clawed fingers tangled in his hair, he tried not to emit a sound. "Now, look," he felt his head being jerked to his left, where he'd glanced anywhere but ever since he'd been locked in this large, arena-like room. He shut his eyes instinctively, but the rough hand in his hair bent his head back painfully. "I said _look_!" The tiny spike on the front of his collar extended again in warning. With a distraught whine, the slave opened his eyes. He wasn't sure how he refrained from releasing a string of sobs at the sight.

There wasn't much left. After the battlers had been set loose into the Pit, they wasted no time in fighting one another for as many scraps of meat from the small body that each could claim for themselves. There had been agonized, terrified screams amid the overlapping snarls of hunger. Limb from limb, the offering had been ripped apart within moments. The slave had begged and screamed for it all to stop, for them to take him instead, but none of them would touch him; they knew better than to harm the Shi'ar's favorite. Instead, he was made to watch, trapped in the energy field that prevented the silver bands he wore from straying from the far wall.

He hadn't even known her name.

Well, to be fair, _she_ hadn't even known her own name. And the Shi'ar hadn't cared to give her a new one. But she was young -- innocent. And pretty. That's what the slave had called her: 'Pretty.' Merely a child, and far too young to understand the cruelty of the world she'd found herself in. Like him, she had no memory of where she came from -- and how she came to be here. He had tried to protect her.

He _tried_...

But, as was with everything, the Shi'ar always got what he wanted. And if he didn't, the consequences were severe -- and often irreversible. His wrath was unparalleled and fearsome. All knew better than to oppose him. If they didn't, then they learned very quickly.

His favorite pet hadn't learned quickly, though; he was a stupid slave. And for reasons unknown, he amused the Shi'ar. It was probably why he allowed his pet to live for so long: entertainment. The Shi'ar loved entertainment.

Pretty's demise was certainly entertaining.

There was no stopping the tears, now. He was going to be punished further for them, but the pet couldn't help it; this was all his fault.

The clawed hand returned. It gripped his face painfully, forcing him to meet those hard, glowing eyes. The slave tried not to make a sound, "You see what you have done? You caused this. If you would have done as you were told, that girl need not have died. I lost all the money I spent on her, and she lost her life. The fault is yours."

The slave was sobbing outright, now; he knew the things that the master said were true. It _was_ his fault. He was met with another hard slap.

"You do not deserve to cry! You see what becomes when you disobey!"

The slave moved to answer, but all that came was more globs of blood from between his lips. He was kicked again. This time, he did not even try to get back up.

The silver bands did the work instead. Before he could process, the pet was thrust down into the Pit by the pull from their energy. His body tumbled painfully, down to where what little remains of Pretty's carcass lay. There was a broken lock of her brown hair just inches from him. The dirt was still wet from her blood. It stuck to his body in clumps.

"Clean this mess," Shi'ar ordered down to him. "And then get yourself cleaned. I expect you in my chambers after meal."

With that, there was the CLANG of the door slamming shut. The slave shivered in both dismay and fear. He knew his punishment was far from over.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more insight before the big kick-off. Btw, I LOVE Chekov's adorable accent, but for soon-to-be-obvious reasons, I didn't write the annunciation. It'll make sense why as you read. Enjoy, everyone!

Chapter Three

"Come on. Just a little more."

Young, doe eyes glared. Concentration, frustration, and determination filled them to the brim. Trembling fingertips clamped one of the tiny menaces between them, adamant to not lose their grip.

Move ten of the beads into the cup. That was the exercise. Everyday was the same -- and everyday was a constant reminder of the day no one wanted to think about -- or remember.

He'd completed transferring seven of the beads successfully. However, with each one, the task became more and more difficult. The trembling hand shook ever harder with effort. Just a little further...just passed the rim...

Suddenly, the bead slipped from the unsteady grip, bouncing across the tray and somewhere onto the floor. A cry of agitation rang throughout the room. The hand crashed down from where it hovered just over the lip of the cup, upsetting it and all the progress it held.

"N-no m-m-more..."

"Come on, Pasha. You're almost done. Try again; you can do it."

"N-no! I s- _said_..." The usually sweet, cherub-like voice was sharp -- angry and frustrated despite the broken syllables. "N-n-no...m-more!"

With a sigh, Hikaru rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb as he got up to retrieve yet another fallen bead from the floor. They had been at this for over two hours. Doctor M'Benga said it was crucial for recovery from the extensive nerve damage. If Pavel had any hope of regaining his primary motor functions in his right hand, he had to complete these exercises diligently everyday.

"I know you hate this," the pilot reasoned with as much patience as he could muster. "But you know what the doc said."

"I-I-I d-don't...c- _care_!" The young genius retorted, his tongue struggling to form the proper sounds around each word. That was another side-effect to the trauma from all those months ago. "N-n-nothing's...ch-changed! I'm-m n-not g-g-getting any...b-b-better!"

"Don't say that," Hikaru replied gently as he resumed his seat beside the biobed. He gathered up the scattered beads on the tray that hovered over the navigator's lap as he did so. "Don't you remember? There was a time when you couldn't even pick up _one_ of these."

"I-it d-doesn't...m-m-matter..." Pavel muttered miserably. "I-I'm n-never...g-going to...b-be c-cleared for...d-d-duty. Th-they are...g-going to...g-gr-ground m-me for sure!"

Hikaru hung his head, reaching out to hold the trembling hand in his own. This conversation got more depressing each time they had it, "Pasha... Look. I know it seems hopeless right now. But give Doctor M'Benga a chance. He used every trick he knows to --"

"W-well, it w-wasn't...enough!" The ensign cried. His big, dark eyes shone with angry tears. As if to further prove his point, he held up his damaged hand. "L-look at m-me, K-K-Karu! L- _listen_ t-t-to m-me! I-I'm...b-b- _broken_! _Useless_!"

"You're _not useless_ , okay?" The pilot insisted firmly. He squeezed the trembling hand between both of his own. "You just need time -- more than you're used to. The poison on the blade wasn't like anything M'Benga had ever dealt with before. He did everything he could."

Pavel wasn't consoled. He simply pulled his hand free and refused to look at his lover and friend, "D-Doctor M-M-Mc-Coy c-could have...d-d-done b-better..."

He wasn't sure why, but something in Hikaru snapped. Before he could stop himself, his palm slammed onto the tray. The beads that he had just gathered up went tumbling to the floor in all directions, "Well, Doctor McCoy isn't here, now! Nobody knows where he is, but at least _you're_ here, and you're alive and _safe_!"

Hikaru regretted his outburst as soon as it left his lips. He couldn't decide which reaction was worse: the startled flash of fear that crossed his Pasha's expression, or the cold, closed-off hardness that followed almost immediately after. He knew _exactly_ where Pavel's mind was prone to go.

"G-go aw-w-way..."

Cursing himself, Hikaru reached out in attempt to apologize. He was shrugged off when Pavel turned away from him, curling into himself under the blankets, "Pasha, I... You know I didn't mean that. It's not your fault -- none of it is."

"T-tell th-th-that to...D-Doctor M-Mc-C-Coy -- who I c-couldn't...p-pr-protect!"

Hikaru groaned and dropped his face into his hand, chastising himself endlessly, "Nobody blames you for _anything_ , so please stop blaming _yourself_. We know you did all you could."

Pavel didn't answer for a long time. Just when Hikaru reached out to gently touch his shoulder, his young voice spoke, so quiet and small, "L-leave m-me...a-al-lone..."

With a heavy heart, the First Officer acquiesced -- for now. The _Enterprise_ was due to arrive at their next destination soon; he still had a job to do, after all.

\----------

"I don' like the looks of this, Jim. I managed to get us through the Zethan Asteroid Belt with minimal strain, but I'm not sure how much more of a beating she can take. I'm telling ye, we may have to turn back and conduct some extensive repairs before we try an' go any further."

It was news like this which truly tested Captain Kirk's patience.

Realistically, he knew Scotty was doing everything in his capabilities to keep things afloat throughout the strenuous trek. It was why the man had initially turned down the field promotion: so he could focus on keeping their lady up to par during this challenging pastime. However, the captain was honestly growing tired of the universe constantly running against them. Couldn't he be granted just one break?

Jim immediately gave himself a mental kick for thinking that. He wasn't sure if he believed in some greater power or not, but he apologized anyways as he fingered the recovered wedding band that lay under his tunic, hanging from a simple chain around his neck. It allowed him to reign in his temper before responding to his Chief Engineer, "Can't you do anything to make her hold out a little longer? We're so close; I can feel it."

"An' I trust your gut, sir. You know that," Scotty sincerely replied. Unfortunately, his tone remained grim, accenting his somber expression in the dim lighting of the lower levels in the engine room. Both men knew better than to have this conversation where wandering ears could possibly overhear. That was the last thing they needed; the fewer crew members who were privy to the fact that they have been violating regulations and ignoring orders from Command for the past several months, the better. Scotty was one of the very few who was included on that Need-To-Know-Basis list. "But I cannae guarantee she can even make it to the next system -- never mind this station that Mudd told us about. We've been running on fumes for longer than I'm comfortable with as it is. And our resources for running repairs are almost dried up."

Frustrated, tired, and stressed beyond description, Jim wearily rubbed his aching eyes, "Is there any place we can stop along our way, without having to turn back? That way we could do the repairs without losing too much time?"

Scott's eyes shone with sympathy and apology, "There's no way to be certain, sir; we've been flying around foreign territory all this time. If we don't get back to familiar waters soon, there's no telling when we'll find a friendly enough place to regroup -- and even then, we don't even know if we'll be able to find anyone willing to give us what we need."

Jim sighed so hard that it morphed into a groan. He really fucking hated Murphy's Law. And he really fucking hated that it chose NOW of all times to hit him square between the eyes. Every minute that he wasn't pursuing this near-invisible trail made it all the more likely that he'd never catch up. Yet, in concurrence to what his Chief Engineer was telling him, if they didn't resupply soon, they'd end up dead in the water. And THAT would certainly ensure that he'd never find his crew. At the same time, however, if they docked at any Federation base, they ran the risk of being apprehended -- and worse so: detained. And Jim would doubtlessly be placed under arrest. That wouldn't help him find his missing crew, either.

Jim Kirk took great pride in having never submitted to a seemingly no-win scenario, but this instance was quickly threatening to change the score.

"What if...what if we ran on minimal power?" The captain supplied, only half-hoping at this point. "Cut use of all unnecessary systems? Limit power usage? Would that buy us some time until we find someplace to haggle some provisions?"

Scott's eyebrows shot up in contemplation. It made Jim's heart flutter for an instant; that particular look usually meant there was some chance, "That might work, sir. I'll have to reconfigure a few bits here and there, but it's possible. As long as we ration our energy outputs, I might be able to stretch things out for another month or so. And I might be able to manage a few minor fixes here and there, in the meantime. We'll have to send out a memo to the crew about the cut-backs."

For the first time in far too long, Jim felt the corners of his lips tug, just a little. He slapped Scotty's shoulder in both commandment and gratitude, "I can work with that. You're a man of miracles, Scotty."

The engineer offered a tame smile of his own as his captain turned to take his leave, "I'll remind you of that the next time I ask for a raise, sir!"

\----------

_'S'chn T'gai Spock... My name is S'chn T'gai Spock... I am of Vulcan... I am in control of --'_

A surge of agony and distress ricocheted throughout his consciousness, thwarting his concentration. It rippled through him, inside and out. He clenched his eyes tightly while he waited for the intensity to subside.

It had been like this all night, wracking Spock's body and mind with hardly any reprieve. He felt the pain as if it were his own. He wished it _was_ his own; at least then, he'd be the only one to feel it.

Once he managed to reign in his control, he set back to center himself once again. He focused all of his concentration inwards, attempting to redirect the influx of torment flooding his every sense. This session was lasting longer than what was usual -- and he feared that it still had a long ways to go yet.

_'Quiet your mind... It shall be over soon... Extract yourself... Seek solace in the far reaches of your consciousness... You are safe, there... It shall be over soon...'_

Emotional transference -- as well as the physical -- was a side-affect he had become acquainted with quite well. A small price to pay, he admitted if only to himself, for the ability to shoulder even a portion of the incurring misery. Still, Spock felt that if anyone should suffer, it should be _him_ \-- and he alone.

His control slipped only long enough for a single track of moisture to drip from beneath his lashes.

_'I am sorry, Leonard. Please forgive me... I am truly sorry...'_

His only response was another resounding wave of agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now it's time for things to REALLY take off. I admit this wasn't the most exciting chapter, but I can promise that the next one will more than make up for it...as well as the ones following. I hope you're all as excited for the next chapter as I am to bring it to you! I'd love to read your thoughts, hypothesis, and criticism. Hope to see you lovely readers soon. Xoxo


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry to a bit of a longer wait this time; things got pretty rough for a bit. But, as always, many thanks to those who have supported this story so far! We've only just begun. Enjoy, everyone!

Chapter Four

The grass was the greenest green one could imagine. The surrounding trees were thick, rich with their respective fruits. There was the sound of a trickle from a gentle stream somewhere nearby. Twittering of birds sprinkled the area throughout. Dozens of little cottontails chased one another across the fields as their visitor passed. The air was crisp, the sun just warm enough. Some might describe this place as a paradise.

He knew he was taking a risk by coming here.

It was a risk to his physical body -- open for attack. He had to take it, though. He had to make sure...

It didn't take him long to find the subject of his search. There, at the furthest reach of the beautiful clearing, was a huddled form burrowed close to the base of the largest willow tree. Despite the curtailing effect due to the drooping branches, there was no question as to who it was. Steeling what he had of his reserves, Spock made his way over.

He stepped softly, not wanting to startle; the situation was delicate. He knew it was illogical, but he felt that the slightest wrong move would shatter everything -- like the frailest of glass. (Not that the idea was very far from the truth, of course.)

Spock waited to speak until his shadow cast over the object of his attention, "Leonard?" The slightest flinch answered him, but nothing more. Slowly and carefully, the Vulcan knelt down in front of the huddled form of his friend. "Leonard...you are safe, here. It is only you and I."

Gradually, the tension began to ease from the doctor's frame. After a moment of two, he slowly lifted his head from where he'd buried it in his arms. His face was drawn, his eyes haunted. Nonetheless, whenever they looked upon Spock, the fear dissipated. The vulnerability, however, was ever present. The sentiment evoked strong emotion that the Vulcan found increasingly difficult to suppress.

Vulcans typically avoided physical contact whenever possible. Still, it held no bearing on Spock, who tentatively reached out to lay his hand on top of disheveled brown hair. He wasn't sure why it made the ache on his side intensify when Leonard closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

"I am sor --"

"Don't."

The single spoken word wavered, yet it still came as a slight surprise. Yet again, physical limitations were not viable here, as Spock reminded himself. He did not question the sudden protest, but he didn't remove his hand, either. Leonard did it for him.

It wasn't like the doctor to reject comfort -- especially when he needed it most. Thus, Spock wasn't certain how to respond when Leonard pushed him away -- meekly, but with purpose, "Don't apologize to me. It's my fault. I deserved it."

This is where the difficult part came in. With each passing day, it became ever harder to keep Leonard from sinking into the pit of despair and subservient programming he was subjected to. Spock settled himself in the lotus position opposite of his friend. He did not attempt to reach out again, but he would not drop the subject so easily, "You did not. The circumstances were beyond your control. Had you done anything differently, I surmise that the outcome would have been much the same."

Leonard shook his head resolutely, ducking his head back into his arms, "No. You weren't there. I could have stopped it. I...I _killed_ her."

"The battlers killed her," Spock insisted with the most firmness that he would allow himself to express. "The Shi'ar ordered her to be killed. You could not have altered the events."

"I _could have_!" Leonard snapped desperately. When he looked up to meet the Vulcan's eyes again, his own hazel ones shone with moisture. "If only I... If I'd just..." Unable to find words, he dropped into his hand, raking roughly through his hair. "He was punishing me. She was killed, and...and he made me _watch_. Damn it, she was just a little girl! Practically a _baby_!"

With those words, the dam broke. Sobs wracked the doctor's body with such ferocity that Spock winced at the onslaught. It even took an extra moment to gather his own bearings again. This time, he didn't hesitate to place his hand back on his friend's head, sending soothing waves to help ease his distress.

"You have suffered quite enough already. Do not punish yourself further." Try as he might, there was no stopping the sadness that emanated from his words. Leonard appeared to pick up on them.

Placing his hand on top of the Vulcan's -- but without pushing it away this time -- the doctor glanced up, eyes searing through the stoic face, "Don't _do_ that. I told you: I brought it on myself!"

They both knew to what he was referring. Still, Spock could not quite squash the feeling of regret and remorse, "What I have done is unforgivable."

"What choice did you have?" Leonard demanded frantically. There was a hint of rising panic in his tone that prompted Spock to send more waves of calm. "If you didn't do it, somebody else _would have_ \-- and then you would have been punished, too."

"Yet, you would not have had to endure the horror of being harmed by _my_ hand." Clearly having no retort, Leonard averted his gaze again, his lips clamped tightly. Spock brought their foreheads together, his voice nearly a whisper, "I made a vow to protect you, Leonard, and I have failed."

A watery scoff emitted from Leonard's throat, "I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"And yet, forever changed..."

There was a beat before Leonard responded, just as quiet, "You can only do so much, you know. If I had just behaved in the first place, this wouldn't have happened."

Spock abruptly pulled away. He leveled his gaze at the doctor again -- this time, it was hard and determined, "You must not judge yourself by the will of others. You cannot submit to being another's property, to mold and do with as they will."

Leonard's returning stare as incredulous, "What else _can_ I do? We _are_ property, Spock! The Shi'ar owns us -- we're lucky he's let us _live_ after everything we've done!"

"He may own our bodies, but we must not allow him to own _ourselves_. Otherwise, we lose who we _are_."

Despite the firmness, the urgency of the Vulcan's words, Leonard simply looked resigned. He pulled tighter into himself. Both were unsure whether he was speaking more to Spock or to himself, "Yeah? Then, who are we, Spock?"

"You are Leonard Horatio McCoy," the Vulcan replied surely, and without hesitation. "And I am S'chn T'gai Spock. Once upon a time, we belonged to no one."

The resigned expression morphed into one of defeat. Hazel eyes clouded over, infinite miles away before they were buried in their owner's protective arms once again, "I can't remember any of that... I can't even imagine what that's _like_."

Deep down, it concerned Spock more than ever when the doctor became like this: melancholy and without any hope of consolation. The Vulcan lost a little more of his friend each time. Once more, he brought his forehead against the crown of the doctor's. He could only attempt to sound more confident than he felt, "You will know it again, Leonard. I swear it by my last breath."

There was a lengthy pause. When Leonard answered, it was quiet enough for even Vulcan ears to need to strain, "Okay." They both knew he didn't believe him.

To be perfectly honest, Spock was having trouble believing it himself.

But Vulcans do not lie.

Deep down in his soul, beneath the furthest reaches of his katra, Spock knew he had to do something. There was no way to determine just how long it had been or how far away they had been carted since their imprisonment and subsequent 'reeducation,' but it had been much too long to hope for rescue. And there was no chance of escape on their own; the safeguards were far too tight. This little piece of refuge -- this mental haven that Spock constructed -- was all they had. But it was a temporary escape, at best. Like a pleasant dream, it had to come to an end eventually. It couldn't keep the darkness at bay forever.

They both were harshly reminded of this unhappy fact when Leonard's head suddenly jerked up. He leveled his gaze, now distraught and fearful, at Spock. The abrupt surge of tension washed through them both. If not for his deeply-engrained control, Spock might have staggered at the drastic shift. He placed a steady hand on the nape of his friend's neck, offering any stability he could.

"He's calling me..." The doctor whispered brokenly.

"I am with you, Leonard," Spock assured softly, yet steadily. "Your pain is mine. Return here."

Leonard moved to respond, but cut himself off with a choked cry. His hand squeezed the cool fingers on his neck before he was suddenly gone.

There was little time to process the sudden string of events; almost immediately, the surroundings lost focus and a rush of blunt pain struck the Vulcan. When next he opened his eyes, he was staring up at the dim-lit high ceiling of the Pen. The was a heavy weight settled atop his chest, large fingers encircling his throat. The electric-green eyes of the bald Orion bored into him, their intent clear.

Amid the conundrum composed of: a), surprise at the sudden attack, b), irritation for allowing himself to be caught off-guard, and c), the concern for Doctor McCoy, it took no time at all for Spock to regain his bearings on the situation. The Orion was strong, but he could easily match it. Vulcans may be a peaceful people now, but they were savage, once. And spending uncountable time facing challengers for the Shi'ar's entertainment (and winnings) ensured that his combat training never rusted. (To be honest, he even procured skills he'd never before had use for.) Perhaps it was time to remind his 'roommates' just why he was the favorite of the Shi'ar's battlers.

He'd heard the Terran term, 'warrior haze' in passing before. However, if asked, Spock would not be able to describe it. Everything was a blur -- action, reaction, instinct, self-preservation. The greater opponent would survive. Spock was the greater; he refused to allow otherwise. The others knew better than to interfere.

It was over quickly -- or so it seemed to the Vulcan battler. Sooner than he could account for, he was staring down at the motionless body of the Orion, surrounded by dozens of onlookers. He breathed hard, allowing the fury to seep from his frame and settle back into the neutral calm he so cherished. He shouldn't have felt satisfaction at the sight of the half-lidded, empty eyes staring up at him. He shouldn't have felt pride at the perfectly-broken neck. None of this should have exhilarated him -- especially not the revelation that came to him the longer he observed his handy-work.

The Tal-Shaya was only utilized by his people when necessary. It was considered a merciful execution. It was quick, ensuring that the victim was dead before they felt the pain. Effective and efficient.

Spock quickly broke himself from his reverie. He locked eyes with every other occupant in the Pen. Many of them backed down, others softened their shoulders or averted their gazes. It was no question who the alpha was. It was only when Spock stepped away from the scene, retreating to his favored place in the far corner beneath the 'window', that the other battlers leapt into action. They squabbled and tussled over scraps of the newly-available meat. Spock let them, all the while carefully observing their every movement. Underneath his diligent vigil, however, was the looming epiphany that spawned in the wake of his victory over the Orion.

While the residual despair and torment stabbed at the back of his awareness, Spock mulled over his determined promise he'd made to Leonard: that he would know freedom again. There was no hope of escape, and there was no one coming to rescue them -- of this, Spock was certain. Furthermore, the only respite he could offer Leonard was the meager sanctuary they could only reach in their unconscious minds. Their physical contact with one another was extremely limited, but such occasions DID happen. Unfortunately, the most recent instance yielded...unpleasant results.

None of that mattered now, though. All that mattered at this point was the objective to be put in Leonard's proximity again -- and as soon as possible. The Shi'ar was very careful to limit his favorite pets' contact with each other. But, maybe, with enough good behavior and favor to their owner...perhaps they might earn such a privilege again in due time. Spock would have to explain this to Leonard, when the next opportunity arose. They would have to be stellar in pleasing the master; they just might be able to win his favor in granting the privilege...

The Vulcan's thoughts whirled with his plan. Done correctly (and swiftly), he could accomplish it. It would take mere seconds to carry out. By the time he did, it would be too late for the Shi'ar to stop him. It was all a matter of time and preparation, right now.

He promised Leonard freedom... And Spock would grant it to him in the only way he could.

After all, this servitude -- this daily torture -- was no way to live.

\----------

"Our regimens are unparalleled and universally effective across all species that we have obtained. There has yet to be a specimen we have not successfullyn trained. Anything from Orions to Gorns, we proudly procure anything the market demands. As you can see from our impenetrable kennels..."

The small alien's voice droned on as he led them down the long alleyway showcasing the imprisoned 'specimens' he boasted about. As advertised, every species imaginable (and a few others the guests hadn't seen before) stared back at them through the forcefields surrounding their cages. Some peered at them curiously, some longingly, while others carried on as if they were unaware (or uncaring) of their presence.

A heavy guard followed their leader, flanking all sides. For a visitor of such high standing as Vër Jarmuut, anything less would be inadequate. He was a man and ruler of many riches, as was displayed by his lavish clothing and accessories. His interpreter, a female Terran, matched him step-for-step, speaking in a language of clicks and pops over that of their tour guide. Jarmuut half listened to both while he surveyed the rows of 'products' they passed.

Conserved and regal as his outward appearance was, Jarmuut was attentively searching. He scanned each passing cage with precise scrutiny. The small, big-eared, sharp-toothed alien carried on his prattling with pride. He appeared unaware that his prestigious guest was paying him little heed. In fact, it took him several steps before taking notice that his honored guest had halted at one of the cages.

The jewel-like eyes of Jarmuut studied the occupant closely. He scoured every detail of the subject's lithe body: the fluid movements of the slender muscles, the gray fur covering the expanse of the feminine frame, the spindly tail that whisked to and fro with the cautious movements of all four limbs. Striking yellow eyes peered up at him, as fierce as the daring hiss emitted from the fanged mouth. Undeterred, Jarmuut stepped close enough only to be stopped by the barrier. He stared silently, unflinching at the feline-like being's attempt at intimidation. He was vaguely aware of his interpreter joining his side. She quietly uttered a Terran exclamation under her breath upon studying the prisoner.

It was in that moment that the creature suddenly leapt at them, claws extended and hiss shrill. She was deflected upon contact with the forcefield. Jarmuut merely blinked, while his interpreter flinched with a surprised gasp. The beautiful, mocha-skinned woman turned to him, clicking an inquiry before the small alien approached. He looked mildly sheepish.

"Not to worry; these barriers can withstand even the most feral of specimens. We are perfectly safe." He gestured to the yowling prisoner, who was dazedly shaking off the shock of the impact. "Of course, this one is quite the fighter. Many have enjoyed its relentless spirit. However, let me assure you that it has been well-trained, poor manners aside. Others have proclaimed that the its resistance adds an interesting...bite...to its servitude..."

Jarmuut refrained from acknowledging the snakelike pride that the alien's words exuded. Instead, he turned to his interpreter. They exchanged a flurry of clicks between them before turning to their host, who was starting to fidget just the slightest.

"Vër Jarmuut requests to know where you discovered this species," the Terran woman announced evenly.

The alien's grin began to appear uneasy. Nonetheless, he continued showing all of his teeth in a poor attempt at confidence, "This one is a new development. We discovered it astray some time ago. There are no others like it, that we've come across." Jarmuut and his interpreter exchanged more dialog between them. They studied the specimen a bit longer until their host spoke up again. "But, please, Your Grace. Let us not decide so hastily; there are many others to choose from. Allow me to direct you towards my array of --"

Jarmuut spouted a rapid stream of clicks and pops, this time sounding authoritative. His interpreter turned to the alien again, "His Greatness wishes to know which other species you have to offer."

The alien fidgeted a bit more prominently, "Many others -- more than enough to account for. If I may lead you --" he was cut off by Jarmuut once again. His gaze had gone steely, boring into the small alien. The Terran woman matched the caliber perfectly.

"His Greatness wishes to see no more. He has decided that he will take them."

The greedy grin returned to the alien's expression. His twisted his fingers between his hands, clearly congratulating himself internally for the easy sale, "Good. Yes, very well, indeed! Which ones, your Grace? I'm at your service to --"

Vër Jarmuut did not wait to hear just what services their host would gladly offer. With a sharp gesture to his surrounding guard, their weapons were drawn instantly, all leveled at the slave trader. Even the interpreter was brandishing her own firearm, "All of them," the woman stated coolly.

From behind the alien's right shoulder, a long katana pressed warningly up against the enormous ear. The lascivious grin fell immediately. The alien stared up at the looming frame of his visitor, "Th-this is most unwise, your Grace," the alien tried to warn despite the quiver in his voice. "This station is heavily protected; even your personal guard is no match --"

"I invite you, please," Jarmuut challenged -- in perfect Standard speech. "Do sound the alarm. Brave your hundred guns against my ship." He stalked forward menacingly, the patterns that were traced throughout his face perfectly poised within his stony expression. "My ship, which happens to be the size of a few _palaces_. And feel free to challenge my Lieutenant, while you're at it." He nodded at the almond-eyed man brandishing the katana from behind. "It's been a long time since he's been able to take his frustrations out on someone." As if on-cue, the thin sword twisted ninety degrees to press its sharp edge up against the enormous alien ear. "Now, if you're ready to talk shop..." Jarmuut paused for a moment to reach into his flowing dark robes. He pulled out what appeared to be a communication device and flipped it open. Not once did he take his sapphire eyes off his host, "Mr. Scott, kindly send in the reserves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, so, um...I discovered something the other day while I was browsing around the new stories: I came across someone who was posting art inspired by stories on AO3. I love looking at fan art and decided to peruse. When I followed the provided link to one of the featured stories and read the summary, a chill ran down my spine: a Fic called "Child of Light" apparently features a race of people named the Shi'ar.... The Shi'ar, spelling the same and everything, is the name of Spock and Bones's owner in my story... I must adamantly point out that this is pure coincidence -- if a bit spooky one. Just let it be known that I highly disapprove of plagiarism and I would never do so to a fellow writer/author. Just to be clear...
> 
> Okay, I'm done. See you all next chapter! Xo


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no limit -- repeat, NO LIMIT -- to what James Kirk is willing to do to get what he needs...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!
> 
> Again, my deepest apologies for the extended wait on this update; things have been hellish lately and I've admittedly been quite depressed. But I got this chapter uploaded as soon as I could! 
> 
> I want to thank everyone who have encouraged and supported me throughout this project! You all are amazing and I appreciate you more than you know! Don't know what I would do without you wonderful readers. Xoxo

** Chapter Five **

All things considered, it had been the easiest task to carry out, in light of everything during the recent pastime. In fact, it was so incredibly easy that he couldn't decide whether to laugh or become suspicious. But this species...they may be conniving, vicious, and overall so greedy that they couldn't see passed the currency symbols in their beady little eyes, but more than anything else, they were bunch of sniveling cowards.

It took almost no effort to intimidate them into submission; before the first wave of officers even completed their invasion, the traders had all but bared their necks and groveled. Sure, a fair number had put up the resilient fight, but their attackers were far too angry and intent on their goal to be hindered much. The entire ship had all been on pins and needles for far too long.

Another wave of alien curses and growls of pain echoed behind the captain while he stood gazing blankly out the viewport. Once upon a time, the mere sight exhilarated him -- filled him with so much ambition and eagerness that he often couldn't sit still enough in his beloved chair. The tease of adventure and excitement emanating from the billions of tiny flickers had always given him purpose, a sense of belonging -- home. Now, though, it simply left him feeling empty. No more could he find it in himself to admire its majestic beauty. Instead, all he saw whenever he stared at the endless, black expanse was the looming knowledge that his crew -- his family -- was somewhere in its midst. More so, that _Bones_ was still out there somewhere, waiting for his husband to bring him home.

The overlapping sounds continued on behind him. He'd give the boys a little longer; goodness knows they've earned it. Everyone else needed to blow off steam, too -- he certainly hadn't been kidding about that. Nonetheless, as he absently twirled a certain black-silver band round and round his left ring finger, he felt his own wrath continue to boil. The simple weight of his own wedding ring used to always ground him, comfort him when he needed. It was the only tangible connection he had left after so long. All it did now was remind him of what he'd lost. More than anything, it was the fact that it used to belong to Bones that affected him the most.

It was kind of funny -- and a little bit ridiculous -- how it all happened. For as long as he'd known him, Jim had never seen Bones _not_ wearing his prized pinky ring. Classes, surgery, even in the shower, it was always there. (Jim once idly wondered if it was a growth, permanently fixed to the surgeon's hand.) That was until one fateful day: it was during their mandated medical leave after the _Vengeance_ fiasco. The brass had been dealt with, Jim was on the mend from his "near-death" (as was officially documented) experience, and Bones's service had been reinstated following his court martial. (Thank the universe for having the only half-human Vulcan on their side...) Jim and Bones had decided to take some time for themselves, away from the public and chaos. They retreated up north, just on the border of Oregon, to a little cabin deep in the woods and miles from any unsuspecting traveler.

\----------

_They sat, side-by-side in a pair of lounge chairs out on the deck. A decanter of bourbon sat atop the small table between them. The pair took turns filling each other's tumblers with it while they watched the sun disappear over the horizon. They didn't speak for the duration, but Jim could feel the hazel eyes he adored so much drifting over him from time to time. He supposed neither of them knew just what to say to one another; Jim knew he certainly didn't._

_They were shrouded in almost complete darkness when Jim had been yanked from his musings. After shaking himself back to awareness, he realized that it had been Bones who broke the silence. It was difficult to make out the details of his face, but Jim could tell he was being stared at._

_"Hmm? Yeah?" He acknowledged faintly, trying not to shatter the delicate balance that had barely held together between them since Jim first woke up. It went without saying that Bones had been hurting, and for once in his life, Jim was at a total loss at what to do. He'd always managed to comfort Bones or pull him out of whatever funk he was in, but now...Jim was afraid that whatever he said or did would just make things worse. So, he waited._

_Finally, Bones spoke again. His voice was strange, though -- much different than any masked calm or gruff demeanor he had ever exuded in the past. This time, it was quiet and hesitant -- as if he was as unsure of himself as Jim was, "Jim...listen. I..."_

_Jim waited not-so-patiently in anticipation for Bones to find his words. Anxiety tugged at him from every angle. This was it, he figured. This was when the most important person in his life was going to tell him that he'd had enough. All the risk-taking, the dangerous leaps, the reckless heroics -- he couldn't take it anymore. He was well-aware that Bones worried every single time Jim had to do something stupid or dangerous (although, in Bones's mind, they were one and the same). He knew what it did to him every time he had to watch Jim barely survive by the skin of his teeth. And even though he never mentioned any of it directly to Jim, Nyota had regaled numerous times how much of a living ghost Bones had been during those two weeks that his friend and lover was suspended between life and death. Even without all of that, Jim Kirk knew he wasn't easy to live with._

_Jim hadn't even realized he was holding his breath until it gust out in surprise at Bones's next words, "I wasn't there, Jim." There was no need to ask what he was talking about. And he obviously wasn't done, so Jim kept quiet. With a sigh, Bones dropped his gaze to his lap, where he appeared to be wringing his fingers. "I know you had your reasons. And I know you were worried about what I would do if I_ had _been." Just when Jim had found enough words to explain his actions, Bones barreled on ahead, "And you were right; I_ would _have done anything to get to you -- including busting that door open with my bare hands. I wouldn't have been thinking about the safety of the crew or that I would have made everything you did be for nothing. But the fact of the matter is that_ I wasn't there _."_

_Sadness and regret gripped Jim's chest. He'd known when he ordered Scotty not to call him that he'd hurt Bones beyond description. He had known he was denying him their chance to say goodbye, but he couldn't...he didn't want Bones to see him like that, scared and rotting with his impending death. More than anything, he was_ weak _, and he would not have been able to hold it together had Bones been brought to him. And he didn't want the last thing he'd ever see to be heartbreak on his beloved's face._

_What it really boiled down to was that his reasons were selfish. Even now, he was too cowardly to admit to it. But he would never stop being sorry, "Bones, I --"_

_"I never want to not be there again." Bones continued as if Jim hadn't spoken. "I want to be with you, even when I'm not." Blindly, he reached across the table until his fingers tangled with Jim's, who squeezed until their joints cracked. In spite of the surrounding darkness, Jim swore he could make out the faint contours of a minuscule smile on his lover's face. It was then that he felt something tiny and solid drop into his palm. It was round with a single jewel on top and a large hole in the center. With a start, Jim nearly dropped it once he realized what it was._

_"Bones! You --!"_

_"My ma gave me that after...after my daddy died. He gave it to her the day they got married. I've always carried it with me since. It's kind of like a part of me..." Bones's thickening drawl trailed off into a humorless chuckle while Jim caressed the ring in his palm. After a moment, his lover sobered up again, "I want you to keep it with you. So you're not alone..." He seemed to run out of words at that point, and Jim could hear the clinks of ice as Bones raised his glass for another long sip._

_After fingering the small ring for several moments, Jim tried to laugh -- only for it to come out sounding more like a strangled sob, "You romantic old_ sap _."_

_There was a hint of mirth in Bones's voice as he replied, "How dare you accuse me of such a thing."_

_More laughter was exchanged and Jim slid his way onto his partner's lounge chair. Of course there was the requisite complaints about lack of room and all, but the cantankerous doctor made no move to rectify the situation._

_In fact, it wasn't until the sun's next appearance that it occurred to them to move at all._

\----------

It had to be refitted, of course; Jim's fingers, while a little bit longer, were slightly more slender than Bones's, so the ring was just a bit too lose on his own pinky -- and just small enough to not fit passed the last joint on his third finger. It was then that Jim had sprouted the idea for the perfect gift in return.

Once he'd gotten his proper ring size, it seemed practical to add a few more minor adjustments while he was at it. Searching for its other half, as it were, took a bit more time. However, finally, all the preparations had been carried out; before long, not only was the size adjusted on the ring Bones had given him, but Jim had managed to track down the perfect duplicate to match. He had them cut specifically to match the other: a divot and then a protruding curve on one side of each, so when fitted together, they were the Yin to the other's Yang. Jim didn't have it in him to alter anything further on the ring Bones had so graciously gifted to him, so he let the single jewel be. On the other, however, he had the gems of their shared birthstone sprinkled across the band. And, of course, a simple inscription inside that, to them, was much more than a quote from Jim's favorite song.

He was a bit of romantic sap himself, when he wanted to be.

As the noises in the background brought him back to present time, Jim closed his hand into a fist before turning to face everyone else in the secluded room, "Mr. Sulu, Mr. Hendorff, take a break."

Both aforementioned men pulled back, albeit reluctantly. There was a ravenous fire in his First Officer's eyes that was quite pleasing to see. And Hendorff, the ogre of a man that he was, had hardly broken a sweat. A grim smile tugged at the captain's lips. Off to one side of the sealed room, Lieutenant Uhura stood stock still, arms crossed tightly and eyes far away. Jim didn't pry. Instead, he approached the small alien bound to the chair in the center of the room.

The gremlin-like being glanced up at him, pointy teeth bared and gaze fierce. It was almost cute, if not for his frustrating refusal to speak. It had been amusing at first. Unfortunately, as fun as it would be to let his officers have at it as much as they were egged on, Jim didn't have that kind of time -- or patience -- to waste. It was time to switch tactics.

Fuck diplomacy. Fuck negotiation. Jim was going to get answers one way or another -- and he was beyond caring about what lengths he would have to go to get it. He wasn't Captain James T. Kirk, ethical peacekeeper and benevolent explorer, right now; he was Jim Kirk, one royally pissed-off and beyond-impatient Iowa boy intent on finding his family -- every last one of them.

The high-pitched screeching of another chair's legs as it was dragged across the floor was undoubtably painful to the alien's sizable ears. Jim reveled in every bit of discomfort he could inflict on his 'host.' Nonetheless, he kept his expression neutral while making a show of swinging his leg over the back of the seat and settling onto it backwards. His eyes bore unblinkingly at the alien, propping his chin up on his hand. After a beat of no reaction, he wiggled his fingers in a parody of a friendly wave, earning him a sneer.

"Hi," he chirped with false cheerfulness. "How's your day goin'?" A light growl was his only response. "Yeah, I've had days like that, too. In fact," a dark chuckle seeped from his throat. "I'm kinda having one right now. As a matter of fact, I've had, oh, let's see...two hundred and ninety-three bad days. _That's_ gotta be some kind of record..." The alien was refusing to so much as make eye-contact. Jim dropped his hand and instead leaned forward, far enough to cause the chair to tip onto its back two legs. His unblinking eyes bored into the alien, as if the numerous lesions across his face would give the answers he wanted. Ire got the better of him and he sharply flicked one dumbo ear, earning an angry snarl. Jim's expression didn't budge. " _Hey_. I was under the impression we were having a conversation, here. Now, you have all the power in the world to end your bad day right now. All I need is a little cooperation." He sternly searched the alien's face, but it had turned its gaze away from Jim once more. "At the very least, simple ACKNOWLEDGEMENT would be nice." He flicked the ear again, harder this time. "I gotta say, Gizmo, the boys and I are quickly loosing our patience..."

To accent his point, Jim nodded over his shoulder to Sulu and Hendorff. Sulu's eyes were black with fury, rivaling the intensity of his captain's. His prized katana stood upright between his feet, supporting his hands as if it were a cane, rather than a deadly weapon. It was obvious he was raring to go again at first opportunity; he still had a lot of pent-up energy to release. Hendorff stood erect at the First Officer's side. His bloodied fists were crossed over his chest in a similar manner to Uhura's. His aura was no less intimidating. Jim inwardly smirked in pride at his loyal officers.

The alien hissed in reprisal, but at least he was looking at Jim, now. When the captain's coldly stoic frown still refused to waver, the alien sardonically huffed once. His beady eyes scanned each of his captors in turn. With each one, his sneer appeared to deepen. Finally, he returned his attention to Jim, "Go ahead. Do what you want: Kill me, destroy this base. I'll tell you nothing."

Jim settled his chin back on his hand again, challenging the trader's glower with faux boredom, "Perhaps _you_ won't. But need I remind you that your _entire operation_ was overtaken, and is now in the custody of my ship? That means I have about a hundred hostages to get information out of. With a bit of _persuasion_ , if I have to."

"You believe the threat of torture frightens us?" The alien snarled, jerking towards the false monarch as far as his bonds would allow.

Jim's right eyebrow arched just slightly, "You think I believe it doesn't?"

"You will accomplish nothing! Whatever you seek to gain, you will not from us!"

"Oh, really? You _do_ realize how very _un_ convincing you sound right now, right?

Surprisingly, the alien chuckled mockingly, "You just walked into the middle of an empire, boy. You believe this station is the only one of its kind? There are others -- more than you can imagine, spread throughout the furthest reaches of space. Even your _mighty ship_ ," he put a nasty emphasis on the latter two words, "cannot hunt them all down. Eliminating me and my men won't stop us all."

Jim leaned forward in his seat again, intrigued by his captive's ramblings, "Is that so?"

"You'll be hunted down before you can even try!" The alien spat. "Once word spreads after you've decimated this base, the price on your heads will draw _countless_ bounty hunters! You'll never make it out of this solar system."

"Whoa. Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you, fella?" Jim patronized. He let out a flat giggle, his eyes icy-cold. "I haven't even gotten to the decimating, yet. Besides..." The captain paused for effect, idly stroking the sprinkling of silver hairs littering his goatee. "If I was concerned with bringing down you're _mighty legion_ of trading stations," he put the same sarcastic emphasis on the choice words. "Do you honestly think I would trapeze throughout the farthest corners of unfamiliar space -- _alone_?" The alien's fierce expression faltered just slightly. He must not have had a retort to that. Not that Jim gave him the chance to conjure up even a bullshit response, of course. The tiniest of smirks graced his lips when the alien began to look uncomfortable. "Oh, no; you see, as noble as your hypothesis makes me sound, that's not why I'm here. Looks like you got me all wrong..." Jim dropped his hand, which found its way to the high collar of his dark tunic. There, his fingers tangled in the chain that he refused to take off even for sleep "Although I do appreciate the extra credit, and all. But, I'm done pussy-footing around." Using his grip on the chain, Jim pulled the tethered wedding band out from beneath his garments. He held it close to the alien's face. "You recognize this?" No response. Hardly surprising, yet Jim remain undeterred. "Well, you should. You pulled it off of one of your... _acquisitions_...awhile back. Sold it to some wandering traveler for whatever you could squeeze for it..? Hmm? Ring any bells?" Unfortunately, the alien decided to resume his silent treatment. It made Jim sigh heavily. Fine. If this gremlin wanted to play hard ball, then Jim was game.

He'd just be here a bit longer than he originally planned.

"You know, where I come from, simple little things -- like this ring, for instance -- tend to carry a lot of sentimental value. Now, we Terrans aren't empaths or have any kind of special bond powers when we mate, or anything like that..." Jim's tone didn't shift from its bored monotone as he spoke. The captain pretended to study his husband's wedding band for a moment. He forced another false laugh before bringing his left hand up to meet the one that was fingering the chain. "But, we're probably the most emotionally-driven species you'll ever meet. And we can be pretty reckless about it, too. Irrational, even. Heh, I'll even agree with ' _illogical_ '..." Jim raised his cold stare to level it at his captive. He made sure the beady eyes were watching his movements of sliding the chained band onto his third finger, where it slid into place with a faint _click_ against his own ring. Jim watched realization dawn on the ugly little face; it wasn't hard to decipher the implication. Grim satisfaction filled his chest. "Which, I may add, is what makes us pretty fucking dangerous." With an unrestrained curl of his lip, the captain brought his fist back up, so the matching rings lying against his knuckle were clearly seen. "This isn't about something trivial like busting your entire _empire_ of business; I'm here because you made this personal."

\----------

At fucking last, they were moving again.

Of course, the flight's been a little rough -- and there may have been some stutters coming from the engine room here and there -- but they were still moving forward. He'd given Mr. Sulu the rest of the day off after his hard work-out, so that left Jim on his own to analyze the newly-obtained information.

They'd found four of the missing crew at that station. Unfortunately, neither Bones nor Spock was among them. As frustrating as that was, at least they were making progress. And Jim had another lead to add to the tally.

They were closing in, he just knew it.

Sure, the imp-like alien insisted on continuing to be maddeningly unhelpful -- which led to Jim's patience snapping and opting to demonstrate to his 'guest' all the wondrous qualities of a Terran chemical compound called 'sulfuric acid' -- but it didn't take as long as Jim predicted it would to finally get the gremlin son of a bitch to talk. It was truly amazing how fast someone's memory could come back after enduring a certain amount of pain...

The chime to his Ready Room snapped him out of his focused headspace. Without looking up from the PADD in his hand, Jim reached over to hit the intercom, "I hope this is important."

"Captain," the crisp, chilled tone of his communications officer answered briskly. "I've pulled all the information I could find on the system 'Darmaq.'"

Satisfied, Jim ordered the doors to open for Lieutenant Uhura. He glanced up only to take the PADD she offered, "Think you can crack the language?"

"I've got the universal translator working on it, now. The analysis should be finished by Alpha shift."

Jim nodded noncommittally. He skimmed through the reports on the transparent screen so quickly that his eyes were a blur, "Good...thank you, Lieutenant. That'll be all." He dismissed her immediately, opting to return to his desk to continue studying his PADDs.

Nyota watched her captain for a moment. He paid her no heed, too entranced with his reading. Finally, it seemed as if she turned to exit the room, but stopped just shy of the door's sensors before turning back, "Captain..."

"What?" Jim replied noncommittally. He still did not look up.

Nyota didn't respond right away. After taking a few steadying breaths, she carefully stalked back towards where her captain sat. Her voice remained as steady as ever, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Jim didn't bother concealing his annoyance this time. He at last brought his piercing azure stare to level at her solid brown one, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow, "I'm a little busy at the moment, Lieutenant. Or can't you see that?" He gestured with the very PADD she'd given him for emphasis.

Undeterred by her CO's terse comment, Nyota stood her ground, "Jim..." At the familiar address, the scornful scowl that had become a regular occurrence lately returned to the captain's face. He pointedly focused on the PADD once more. He didn't need (or want) this right now. "The crew is worried about you. You've been acting less and less like yourself since --" Nyota cut herself off when Jim snapped his gaze up again. To the average onlooker, it might have appeared as if his expression was devoid of all emotion. To one as versed in his behavior that Nyota was, the anguish in his eyes was as stark as an exploding sun. "Since it happened." The communications officer's voice was softer with that last comment, yet the tension in the room did not abate.

The two held one another's gaze for several minutes before Jim's neutral facade settled back into place. Returning his attention to the PADD once more, he opted to get up and pace the room -- anything to avoid the ever-knowing eyes of his colleague and friend, "You'll forgive me if my sense of humor is lacking lately..."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," determined not to let this go, Nyota boldly followed her leader's pacing, working her way around the table while the stubborn bastard continually attempted to evade her. "What happened in there, with that alien -- that wasn't _you_ , Jim!"

"Then what _is_ me?" Jim barked as he finally rounded on her.

Nyota faltered for but a split second. She refused to recoil as her captain stared her down, "Definitely not _that_. You've always been the brash, reckless, sometimes _irresponsible_ ruffian I met in an old, Iowa bar," Jim visibly bristled, obviously readying to fire back, but Nyota pushed onward. "No matter how _loyal_ , _compassionate_ , and goddamned _selfless_ you tend to be. And none of that --" for the first time since she entered the room, the Lieutenant's steely demeanor finally began to crack. Moisture, as well as a thousand ghosts, filled her eyes, "None of that was there in that room. You...you _tortured_ a prisoner for information! You hardly _blinked_ while he was on the floor, _screaming_ in agony! Even when he promised to talk, you just... _kept going_!"

"I had to make sure he wouldn't waste any more of our time," the cold monotone was back. With little more flair then continuing is reading, Jim dropped back down onto the nearest seat. "Just a little insurance, Lieutenant, nothing more. Besides, the little creep still has _one_ good ear..." The second dismissal was quite apparent. Nyota was having none of it.

"Do you even hear yourself?" Her voice dropped down to a dangerous register. "Do you have any idea how much of yourself you've lost already? What's next? Blowing up every planet we find? Arrest every alien we meet?"

"I got us what we needed, didn't I?" Jim shot back. Even as he spoke, his inner eye replayed the events Nyota spoke of: how he'd kicked the chair to which his prisoner was bound to the floor, his boot pressing down onto the gremlin's chest to hold him still while Jim slowly dribbled the corrosive acid, one drop at a time, onto the ugly face. Even now, he felt nothing but hollowness at the memory of the hoarse screams and curses. "Besides, you can't possibly tell me you feel _sorry_ for those bastards. If you recall, _they're_ the ones who brainwashed and did God-knows-what-else to our crew. You saw them. Lieutenant Kaavi doesn't even recognize her own _brother_." It was true; the catlike nurse was feral already towards anyone who had tried approaching her. The security team reluctantly had to stun her before they dared to evacuate her with the other 'subjects.' At the very present moment, Kaavi was confined to quarantine until she either wore herself into exhaustion or, by some miracle, allowed any of the medical staff near her. Her twin, Engineer Kino Kaavi, had yet to abandon his vigil at the observation window. "What ones they didn't capture, they killed! Hell, they may have permanently handicapped Chekov!"

"And that somehow makes all this _right_?" Nyota demanded incredulously.

"Do you have a _better_ idea?" Jim bellowed, the PADD making a loud bang as it hit the table top. "How else are we supposed to figure out what happened to the others -- and where to find them? In case you hadn't noticed, Lieutenant, we're not simply asking for directions, here! We're dealing with stone-cold, heartless criminals who'd apparently sell their own _mothers_ into slavery before going broke! They're the ones who set the stage, and if we want to get anywhere with them, we can't be pulling punches!"

The last reaction Jim could have expected was the loud WHACK, accompanied by a sudden surge of pain across his left cheek. The impact was so fierce that it sent him reeling to catch himself against the table. Once he shook the tweeting birds from above his head, Jim darted back up at his communications officer. Before he could muster up a rebuttal of any kind, her commanding, stern, yet _wavering_ voice filled the room.

" _You're scaring the crew_! All of them are afraid of what you might do next. What would _Leonard_ think if he saw you like this?"

For the first time, Jim Kirk found himself at a loss for words. All this time, while the black pit in his chest festered with every passing minute, he'd felt justified in every one of his actions. These fuckers didn't deserve his courtesy -- not after everything they'd done to him and his family. Every single person involved in this mess earned his wrath.

He'd never before considered that he may have been lumping the _rest_ of his crew in with that group.

Some genius he was.

Several indiscernible minutes passed in silence. Jim stared wordlessly up at Nyota, trying to make sense of his thoughts. After what felt like an age, the proud woman straightened her posture. Her eyes gave nothing more away and she stuck her chin out, "I submit myself to whatever disciplinary action you deem fit, Captain."

Jim was pretty certain his actions were no more anticipated than hers had been. After another moment of staring, Jim finally levered himself from his seat and embraced his colleague. She hesitated only a beat before gingerly returning the gesture, "I'm sorry. I'm a dick..."

A huff of a laugh tickled his shoulder, "I've never disputed that."

Jim couldn't find it in himself to become indignant. Instead, he released a weak laugh of his own and tightened his hold even more. They stayed that way until the captain found his voice again -- although it was merely a remnant of the cold hardness it had adopted in recent months, "I know I've most likely breached the point of going to far... But I can't stop, now. Even if I hadn't gone to those lengths, the brass are on my tail and they won't stop until I'm in cuffs. I can't let that happen before I find everyone else." _And before I find my husband_ , went unsaid. Nonetheless, they both heard it loud and clear.

This time, it was the warm breath of a sigh he felt ghosting the fabric of his tunic, "I know..."

"I'm their captain; I can't -- _won't_ give up on them."

"I know, Jim."

Finally, the two returned to arm's length rom one another. Nyota had the good grace to look sheepish at the reddening welt on the bearded face. She made he way to the replicator for an ice pack. Jim waited until the compress was against his cheek before speaking again, "I _will_ find them, Nyota -- all of them. Spock. ...Bones," His eyes turned glassy without realizing it. It was the lieutenant's now-gentle hand giving a sympathetic caress to his undamaged cheek that brought him back to real-time.

"I miss them, too," she muttered quietly -- sadly.

"When the time comes," because it was going to, inevitably. "You can deny having any part of this. As far as the Admiralty's concerned, I acted alone; the crew has no idea I've gone against orders. It's your word against theirs; nobody can prove anything from hearsay other than the fact that I'm responsible for the actions of my ship."

It was an out, and Jim was giving her every opportunity to take it. It was the smart decision above everything else. And it was the least he could do in return for the immense loyalty he still didn't feel he deserved.

Nyota stood tall once again, her resolve steely and unmovable, "I stand by my decision, Captain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry there wasn't Spock, Bones, or Chekov in this chapter, but they will be back in the next one! I'll try to have it out as soon as I can. Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback is most welcome and appreciated! Xoxo


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise is closing in...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all are still out there...
> 
> Once again, I can't apologies enough for the delay. Things just really suck right now... :( I hope you lovely peeps are still reading. I meant to post Chapter Seven as well as this one, but I'm still doing some general clean-up on it. I hope to have it out within the next few days, depending on how much life gets in the way.
> 
> But, as always, I thank everyone who has read and taken the time to leave kudos and comments. They certainly keep me going. I hope you all like this next installment. Enjoy, everyone, and thank you for your patience. Xoxoxo
> 
> (P.S. I didn't get much of a chance to do a lot of proofreading. I apologize for any typos.)

Chapter Six

He was usually good about it.

It was just another of the various expectations required of him that he rise before the master. He'd become accustomed, over time, to naturally waking just after the sun and kneeling in his standard position at the foot of the giant bed. As far-fetched as it may seem at times, there were a few things he _could_ do right.

But, he was just so _tired_ , lately. Ever since Pretty had been put at the non-existent mercy of the battlers, the master's ire with him had not eased in the slightest; he was struck more often than ever -- sometimes for reasons he was not aware of. (Not that it mattered, of course; he was the Shi'ar's property, to do with as he saw fit. And it wasn't as if his favorite pet was very smart, anyways.) Not to mention that sources of nutrition had become demonstrably scarce, nowadays. It all left him with such little energy. His body felt like lead and his eyes ached from the effort of simply opening them.

The kick to his back wasn't much in the way of help.

The pained groan escaped his lips before he could stop it. Nonetheless, ingrained training prompted him to move before his eyes were even open. The uneven ridges of the stone floor dug into his knees as he pushed himself up. He had barely formed his rightful pose before another heavy blow hit him just above his abdomen. There was no stopping himself from doubling over and whimpering in extraordinary pain.

"It begins to appear to me that you _enjoy_ this," the deep, sadistic voice of the Shi'ar rumbled. "Disrespect, disobedience, now sloth. Do you enjoy pain, so?"

With a great amount of effort, Leonard resumed the correct posture. His hands resisted the urge to cradle his aching torso and instead lay palm-up on his knees. An answer was expected immediately, he knew, so he shook his head. Verbal response wasn't even among his instincts anymore. The master gave the rumbling equivalent of a patronizing huff.

"I find your talent in angering me most contradictory," he gave a wave of his clawed hand that Leonard sensed, rather than saw. The thin, silver collar instantly reacted and that dreaded tiny spike forced the slave's chin to tilt up and meet the glowing, displeased eyes of his owner. Words being of no use to him, Leonard tried to convey through his eyes just how sorry he was. The master always said his multi-colored irises spoke of things no language could adequately convey -- a trait which he claimed to admire. As cruel as the Shi'ar could be, he every so often declared minor expressions of endearment. It was admittedly confusing, at times. "Pray you do not shame me before our guests." The sharp nail of his mater's thumb lightly ran down Leonard's bottom lip to scrape along his chin and jaw, leaving a sliver of oozing, red liquid in its wake. Leonard did his best not to shudder.

Guests? Were more visitors to be expected? Another tournament, then?

His initial worry for the Vulcan, Spock, spiked. It was fruitless to hope that he would not be entered into the competition; he was one of the best, after all. And although his prowess was to be admired -- envied, even -- he was not invincible. And he was not without his battle scars. It was impossible not to fear the very real possibility that the day may come wherein he wasn't simply _injured_.

The battle competitions were fierce, and a center point of the gambling that took place in these parts. It was not unusual for a fatality to happen, once in awhile. It was a reality that was ever present in the back of Leonard's mind.

His racing thoughts were cut short when the energy suspending his collar aloft was abruptly released. He just barely caught himself on his hands before another solid force of impact ushered him to move.

"I wish to bathe. Waste no more of my time."

Leonard scrambled to obey, but the bands on his arms and legs -- not unlike his collar -- refused to allow him to stand. The master wished for him to crawl, then. The slave inwardly lamented his aching knees while he scrambled out to the balcony patio, where the master's bath basin was. He must prepare it quickly, lest he risk punishment again.

He tried not to let his worry bleed through for Spock to pick up on; the day was going to have enough trials for the Vulcan without it.

\----------

"...I told him, y'know. I _specifically_ said there was no way t'tweak the specs for Advanced Warp on the reserve powers we're runnin' on without risking an implosion in the reactor. But, _nooo_ , I must not know a bloomin' thing because _he's_ the top o' his baby-faced graduating class, and _I'm_ jes' simply the Chief Engineer on the bloody flagship o' the entire Federation -- with more year's experience than the number o' hairs on his chin! What do _I_ know, right?"

The voices echoed throughout the empty corridors leading to the lower engine room. Gamma shift ran on a skeleton crew; the lights were dimmed and there wasn't another crew member in sight. Of course, not many came down to these levels at this hour, where Mister Scott and his right-hand man were known to retreat in order to decompress.

"...And _now_ , the bloody idiot's been taken off of active duty for th' next two weeks because he had to go an' let a chemical explosion erupt in his face. As if I could spare any hands already! _Youth_ , I swear, wee man. Ye jes' cannae trust 'em to think for themselves..."

Those latter words were enough to halt the would-be visitor in his tracks. Maybe coming down here was a bad idea; he's caused enough trouble already. Maybe he should just --

"Laddie!" The Scotsman's sudden address made him freeze almost as soon as he about-faced. He didn't need to look to know that Scotty had leapt from his seat and was now making his way over. "Wha' are ye doin' down here? You should be resting!"

Pavel's eyes darkened. He adjusted his grip on the cane in his functioning hand before clumsily turning back to face his mentor. His scowl deepened when Scotty reached out to steady him as he did so, "I've-ve...rested enough. I-I c-can't rest an-an-ymore."

Scotty's expression was sympathetic, "Oh, I hear ye, lad. But you cannae expect to get 'ne better if you overexert yourself like this."

Pavel begrudgingly shook off Scotty's ginger hold on his good arm, refusing to make eye-contact, "H- _how_ c-can I...r-rest when...Ka- _Karu's_ g-going...d-down there...on th-that pl-plan-et...th-th-that..." He could feel himself getting flustered. His speech grew even more broken when that happened, frustrating him more. Fortunately, Scotty was as perceptive as he was a genius in his trade.

The engineer reached out in an effort to offer comfort, but was unsure how much touch he could get away with without making matters worse. Finally, he settled on lightly patting the ensign's back, "Ah, there, there. I understand."

Pavel tried to regain control of his erratic breathing, but they only morphed into choked sobs, "I sh-shouldn't have...c-come do-own here. I-I'm...s-so-orry I...b-both-ered y-you..." He briskly turned to go, but he quickly lost his balance. He would have taken a hard fall, but the Scot reached out and steadied him. This time, Scotty didn't hesitate in wrapping an arm around the young prodigy's shoulders.

"Oh, no, lad. You ain't botherin' us none. Here, why don't ye come have a drink with us," he didn't wait for an answer before steering Pavel toward the small table in the back, where Keener sat in waiting. "I just brewed a fresh new batch. Ye cannae expect us to finish it ourselves! Besides, ye deserve it more 'n anyone."

Pavel allowed himself to be lead, wishing his mentor didn't have to drastically slow his pace so that the clumsy ensign didn't trip over his own unsteady feet. And he shouldn't have needed Keenser to pull out his chair for him! Pavel was so disgusted with himself -- with the fact that he couldn't properly function on his own anymore, "I-I don't...d-de-serve...an-ny-thing..." He mumbled miserably.

"Ah, don' say that," Scotty placated as he poured a third cup of his homemade brew. "Yer jus' goin' through a rough time right now. Things are gettin' better."

It was nearly impossible for Pavel to not loose grip on his temper. "N-no th-they-ere...n-n-not! I-I'm the...r-re-reason f-for a-al-l thi-is...m-mess. Th-they are all...g-going...d-do-wn th-there...r-ris-king th-eir l-lives when...I-I sh-sh-ould be... W-we w-w-ouldn't need t-to...b-be here...I-if o-only I had...I-if I had j-just..." Words failed him, and Keenser and Scotty exchanged troubled looks when uncontrollable sobs took over once more. To make matters worse, upon bringing his hands up to cover his tear-soaked face, Pavel's spasming hand knocked into the table and upset the drink that Scotty had only just set before him. At this point, he was too deflated to feel anything more than defeat. "St-stupid...hand. C-ca-an't do...a-an-nything...r-right..."

Scotty wasted no time in picking up the capsized cup while Keenser fetched a towel to sop up the mess. After drying off his hands, the chief engineer stood and returned to the ensign's side, wrapping his arms around the quivering frame. Pavel didn't bother fighting him, "It's alright, lad. No use crying over spilt scotch."

"I-I'm...u-use-l-less, M-Mi-ster S-Scott," Pavel mumbled into the dampening red tunic. "T's a-all my...f-fault..."

Scotty didn't relinquish his hold, no matter how much Pavel furiously tried to twist away. Instead, he simply let the ensign's sobs peak and then begin to subside before attempting to speak again. When he did so, he pulled back just enough to coax the young eyes to look up at him, "Now, you listen here, wee man," Scotty's tone was low, firm, yet somehow not unkind. "There's no sense in shoulderin' all th' blame yerself. Those bastards were gonna do what they did whether ye'd been there or not. Ain't nothin' short of a miracle you walked out of there when so many others are dead. An' ye pointed us in the direction we needed to go, laddie. Without you, we'd never a' known where t'look."

After a moment of allowing Scotty's words to sink in, understanding appeared to dawn on Pavel's face. It only lasted for a beat or two before he became crestfallen again, "I-I-I...c-cou-ldn't pro-t-tect them...They were...ri-right there a-and I cou-couldn't even --"

"They would have taken you too, lad," Scotty cut in sternly. "If they hadn't left ye to die, you would have been taken away, jes' like the rest of the crew. And there's no guarantee you'd have survived what with all that beatin' you took." A meaningful look passed between them. Pavel considered it and then his face softened at last. Deflated and tired in more than one sense, the prodigy leaned against his mentor once more, reveling in the gentle touch. "Believe me, wee man, there are far ways this coulda gone. Everyone -- especially the captain -- are just grateful to have you still with us."

The puzzlement that passed through Pavel's frame was nearly palpable, "Th-the...Cap-tain?"

"More n' anyone, Lad. They had t'nearly ban him from the Medbay so he wouldn't disrupt yer healin'."

Pavel's next question was hesitant, "D-do you...th-think he'll ev-ever...fo-forgive m-me?"

Scotty took a moment to pull back once more and assess the young genius. The poor kid's face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot and framed with purple shadow. There was no doubt he'd lost weight, too. Hell, it even seemed as if his bouncy curls had significantly wilted. In the midst of all of that, repentant guilt Pavel bore all this time certainly wasn't helping matters. The blatant handicaps were more than enough without all the extra beatings he was giving himself. And he honestly believed he deserved even _more_?

Finally, Scotty found the words to answer the timid inquiry, "Not a chance in hell," there was barely enough time for the distraught expression to dawn on the ensign's face before Scotty continued, voice solid and sure as he returned to his seat for his own drink, "'Cuz there ain't nothing to forgive ye for. Now drink up before all this good hooch goes t'waste."

Pavel watched as both the engineers downed there drinks with gusto. It was hard to accept the reassuring words, but at least he was secure in the revelation that at least Scotty held no grudge against him; if the man wasn't already inherently open about everything, it's not as if _he_ lost a loved one down on that nightmare called Makis IV.

\----------

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"They're never going to believe I'm one of them if the scars are too neat."

"Let us at least sedate you, then."

"The local anesthetics with be fine enough, Captain. Besides, I want to see it happen," there was a pause, then, "I _need_ to."

Jim sighed heavily. There was no talking his current First Officer out of this; he hadn't even needed to search out reliable volunteers before Sulu all but forced himself onto the situation. And he obstinately refused to take 'no' for an answer. Geoff glanced sideways at Jim, old-fashioned scalpel in hand and hesitation clear in his tense fingers. It was almost as if he was awaiting the order to stand down. Jim simply passed him a resigned look.

"I'm not asking you to do this..." He half-heartedly offered his XO.

Sulu's eyes were steely and unblinking. He sat ramrod straight atop of the biobed, hands clenching the hand-held mirror so hard it's amazing he hadn't cracked it yet. The helmsman continued to glare at a point somewhere off Jim's left shoulder, towards the sealed door that isolated them from the rest of the Medical Bay. His tone was cold and sure, "And I'm not offering, Captain."

Captain Kirk wanted to argue the point. He wanted to list a hundred reasons why Sulu should not go through with this. This task wasn't on the helmsman's shoulders -- it was on his own. Inwardly, however, _Jim_ didn't truly want to fight Hikaru; he knew he needed as many convincing factors as he could garner. He knew that, the more they fit the bill, the smoother this operation was bound to go. He _needed_ Sulu's proposed role in this charade.

He didn't have to like it.

Finally, Jim resigned himself to the unfavorable circumstances. With a somber nod to the present chief surgeon, the captain watched as M'Benga pressed the blade just above Hikaru's right eyebrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly not as long as I wanted it to be, but it was the only viable stopping point before the events that are to follow. Be prepared for much discomfort and angst. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. I shall have Chapter Seven out ASAP.


End file.
